Shadows of the Past - Poena Commoratus
by ZipRush
Summary: In light of the breaching of Vale's walls, the Council has made one request of Beacon Academy - a request to increase their student count. The Council feels that more students will increase the Kingdom's general safety. Some feel that the increase will only lead to more wasted lives because of worse training. A third party sees weakness. A chance to strike out at a group they hate.
1. Prologue

Ozpin glanced up from his desk as another call came in. He checked the ID: Vale Council. _What else do they wish to say to me? They've already stripped me of one of my responsibilities in the Festival. No sense in trying to guess their motives, though._ He pressed 'accept call'.

"Good morning, Councillors."

"Good morning, Ozpin." _One of them speaking for all of them again._

Ozpin waited for the inevitable follow-up statement that told him what the call was for, but found none forthcoming. "Is there a reason behind why you've contacted me again, Councilman?"

"There is, Ozpin, and it's a decision that some of us are… hesitant about."

The choice of words roused Ozpin's interest. Rarely did the Council make decisions without being confident that they were right. Hesitance in those matters was uncommon, to say nothing else.

"Hesitant?"

"We understand that Beacon and its oversight is your domain, Ozpin." _Oh. Oh no._

"Respectfully, Councilman, if we could dispense with the formalities, I would be very appreciative. If the Council has plans for Beacon, just inform me of them. Don't try and cover them up in florid language."

His response drew a reaction from the Councilman, a fact that Ozpin took note of. _He doesn't want me to be so direct about this. I might push that button again if these plans aren't going to work out._

"Very well, _Professor_." Ozpin allowed a faint smirk to escape at the condescending use of his title. "Our plans for Beacon, as you put them, came about from further deliberation after Mister Torchwick's attack. It is plain to see, after assessing the reaction from our forces, that were it not for the presence of the Atlesian military in Vale, we would have sustained far greater losses than we had, potentially even losing some of your students."

Ozpin nodded as the Councilman outlined the process behind the decision. What he said was more or less correct; if Ironwood and his forces hadn't been in Vale, the teams that had deployed themselves to the attack – RWBY, JNPR, CFVY – could certainly have been overwhelmed. Potential could only get you so far in a fight, as Ozpin well knew.

"Now, in light of our deliberations, Professor, we have reached a decision: Beacon needs to increase its numbers."

Ozpin cocked an eyebrow at the vagueness. While his dealings with the Council, by their very nature, invited some ambiguity in the wording, this was something else. "'Beacon needs to increase its numbers'. Would the Council care to elaborate on exactly what is meant by that statement?"

"The Council requests that you increase the quantity of students attending Beacon Academy." _By Dust, they've gone insane._

"And what would this accomplish, Councilman?"

"By increasing the number of prospective Huntsmen available to the Council of Vale, we might be better equipped to withstand attacks on such a scale again, without needing to resort to the Atlesian forces."

"Yet the Council has been content with the current output of Beacon Academy for decades, and equally content with letting the Atlesian military pick up the slack to the point that they have been appointed primary security detail for the Vytal Festival. Forgive me, Councillors, if I am misinterpreting your words, but you seem to be trying to play both sides. On the one hand, you look to be more independent from the Atlesian forces, but on the other, you are content to have the Atlesians watch over progressively more of Vale. I'm sure I need not remind you that, historically, managing the safety and security of all who attend the Vytal Festival has been a task for men of Vale."

"And times change, Ozpin. I'm sure you're aware of this. When the men of Vale prove outmatched, it is only reasonable to leave tradition by the wayside in the interests of public safety. The Council trusts that you can execute their wishes adequately?"

Ozpin scowled, realising his time to debate the Council's decision was at an end. "I shall fulfil the Council's request to the best of my abilities."

"See that you do."

The figure winked out of existence on the screen, and Ozpin released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. _This will take some work. They couldn't have waited for the end of the semester for this?_ He pressed a button on his desk. "Glynda, could I see you for a moment?"

* * *

A quiet knock on the doorframe pierced Magnus's thoughts, bringing him out of his reverie. "Princep Magnus, our ears in the Council have come back with something."

The Princep whirled around, mention of the Council drowning out the rushing thoughts in his mind.

"And? What have they heard?"

"The Breach has rattled the Council more than we expected."

Magnus nodded, pacing slowly from wall to wall behind his desk, spinning a knife between his fingers. "Of course it has. You can't predict bureaucrats when their lives are at stake. I've been telling the other Princeps that for years, and now who's laughing? Carry on, I'm sure that's not everything."

"They've expanded Beacon's freshman year. The Council hopes for a doubled size."

"What, so they'll have double the numbers with half the training in four years?"

"Sir, if you want, I can have them remind-"

Magnus waved a hand dismissively. "No, Victoria, not now. We need the Hunters to fail on an incredible level. The Breach wasn't the failure I was looking for. Do we know who was behind that, yet?"

"Yes, sir. A well-known criminal by the name of Roman Torchwick has been taken into custody by Atlesian forces."

"Atlesians… terrific. That chapter still thinks we're dead, so he's out of our hands."

"Sir, I can re-establish contact with the Atlesians whenever you wish."

"That bitch Aloisa wouldn't let me hear the end of it if she found out the communication breakdown was my fault."

Victoria sighed as she heard yet another excuse for the Valish Cerulans to remain in isolation.

"Do you have a complaint to air, Consul?"

Victoria silently cursed herself as she snapped to attention. "No, sir. Just… got a lot on my mind."

"Of course. Do we have a list of persons of interest at Beacon?"

"A cursory one, sir. Freshman year only, per your orders."

"What about staff?"

"Well, sir, there's only two staff of note at Beacon: The headmaster and his deputy. The headmaster is known to us only as 'Ozpin'. Mononym, no idea if it's his first name, surname or nickname."

Magnus stabbed his knife into at the mention of Ozpin. "That _can't_ be right. He should be dead by now." A nearly-imperceptible hand movement sent the knife clattering to the floor. "Dammit!"

"Sir?"

Magnus looked up at Victoria and was instantly reminded of his own age. _She's only twenty-six, or so her file says. Of course she wouldn't know about 'Ozpin'._ "Beacon's been run by 'Ozpin' for decades now. Long before you were born. I figured it might have just been one person – one hilariously eccentric person – but I know now that's not the case. There would have been an obituary by now. Do we have any recent images of this Ozpin?"

"Not many. He's reclusive, but we have descriptions of him. Should I read the most recent?"

"Please do."

Victoria pulled up the appropriate document on her scroll and cleared her throat. "Tall, approximately six feet six inches. Middle-aged, tending towards old, but curiously unwrinkled. Grey hair, dishevelled. Brown eyes. Clothing consists most commonly of black suit jacket, black vest – buttoned, green undershirt, black shoes and dark green pants. Sound familiar, sir?"

Magnus shook his head in disbelief. "That's him. How old is that description?"

Victoria quickly glanced down at the time stamp. "Three weeks old, sir."

Magnus allowed a dark smile to escape at the news. _So, he looks the same three weeks ago as he does the last time I saw him nearly thirty years ago. I'm surprised he doesn't have some cosmetics company breaking down his door._ "And the deputy?"

"Beacon's deputy headmistress is one Glynda Goodwitch."

"Goodwitch? We have a file on her?"

"Somewhere, sir. If we do, it hasn't been digitised yet."

Victoria ducked out of the way just in time to evade the thrown coffee mug. "What do you mean 'it hasn't been digitised yet'?! We've been using digital records for the past twelve fucking years!"

"What I mean, sir, is that not all of our records are automatically transcribed digitally. Sometimes, a scroll is more conspicuous than pen and paper. And, due to our underground status, finding people willing to transcribe several-page-long dossiers on Vale's esteemed Huntsmen and Huntresses is a rather difficult task. Finding people who won't talk about the fact that they are transcribing several-page-long dossiers on the aforementioned Huntsmen and Huntresses is slightly more difficult. Seeing as the only activity you've contributed in the past four weeks, sir, has been requesting updates on every major Hunter-related event in Vale and sputtering away in this office, I feel somewhat vindicated in not prioritising such menial administrative tasks in favour of appeasing your requests."

Magnus walked up to the young Consul, bringing her eyes up to his. "Consul, if you wish to leave this building, you may want to watch your tone. I plan. You obey. We are not a two-person operation, so I refuse to believe that you could not have delegated some tasks. The only hole here is in your effort."

"Sir, might I remind you that we are the only sworn members in the entire building. Unlike myself, the people I delegate to are not honour-bound to obey. Seeing as we pay them barely above standard, I would expect that any work is slow to get done."

"And this is where I reveal to you exactly what I've been whiling away the hours on for the past four weeks. Get your gear, we're going outside the walls."

Victoria looked on as her superior, who, scant moments before, looked ready to throw her across the room for her insubordination, took on a far cheerier demeanour and began strapping on armour plates over his clothes.

"Go on, I'll see you outside in five."

Victoria nodded quickly, darting away to her own office to gear up.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Ozpin?"

Ozpin span in his chair, sipping from a coffee that he felt was much-warranted after his meeting with the Council. "Yes, Glynda. The Council came calling again."

"Oh. The Festival again, or…?"

"They want me to expand the freshman count."

"That's not possible. This late into the year, with the Tournament looming on the horizon…"

"I know. But this is the Council. They'll get somebody in who will if I don't. I'd like you to compose a message for the students informing them of this change. The last thing I need is more questions than necessary being asked."

Glynda sighed, pulling out her scroll. "All Beacon students, or just the freshmen?"

"All of them. We don't want to draw more suspicion from the upper years."

"More suspicion?"

"I'm sure you hear the same things I do, Glynda. The fourth-years and their cynicism isn't exactly a secret. If we were to exclude second-years and above from finding out about new students, they'd riot."

"I thought your normal intent with these requests was to keep the circle of knowledge as tight as possible, Ozpin."

"Most Council requests have the kindness to stay out of administrative matters. This one is rare. Unfortunately, the fact that it concerns the students here means that they must all be informed or else rumours begin to spread. And nothing's quite so dangerous as a rumour."

Glynda glanced up from her scroll to shoot Ozpin an annoyed look. "I'm not one of the students, Ozpin. You can stop with the little nuggets of wisdom concealed within mundane sentences when I'm around."

Ozpin smiled, taking another sip from his mug. "So you admit that there's wisdom in what I say."

"I would hope so, considering your position."

"So do I."

Ozpin's cryptic statement drew a sigh from Glynda, who saved the message quickly before putting her scroll away. "Ozpin, the doubt won't do you any good. I know you try to hide it, but it's obvious to anyone who spends more than a few moments around you. If the ghosts of the past are still bothering you, I can understand that, but don't let them cloud your judgement. You've told me hundreds of times that nothing is truly won without sacrifice, no matter how hard you work to avoid it. I hate to turn your words against you, but you've got to sacrifice those doubts sometime. Especially if you want your protégés to last as long as their predecessors."

Ozpin's veneer of contentment faded at Glynda's mention of the 'predecessors'. "I know, Glynda. I know." He stood from his chair and walked over to the window, a silent indicator that their conversation was finished. Glynda thought about going and reassuring him, but thought the better of it. _Wouldn't be right, sending him mixed messages like that. Especially not with what I said._ Nodding in delayed acknowledgement, she walked out of his office, pulling her scroll back out.

* * *

The concerted noises of four scrolls pinging in quick succession drew the attention of Team RWBY as they went through their morning routines. Yang, who'd already co-opted hers to serve as a pocket mirror in light of the bathroom's occupation by one frosty member of the team, was first to see the message. "Might want to take a minute, guys. It's from Goodwitch."

"Professor Goodwitch? Why would she send us a-"

A scream from across the hall interrupted Weiss's line of investigation. "NEW STUDENTS!? REN, WE'VE GOT NEW STUDENTS COMING!"

"Looks like it's more than just us who got the message, Ice Queen."

"Well, what is it?"

Yang looked up at her teammate disbelievingly. "You didn't hear Nora just then? New students. Seems the Council wants some more Hunters on hand."

Ruby's head emerged from her bed, a question following it. "We handled that breach pretty well, I think. Why should they be worried? We'll just do it again."

"We didn't do half as much to stop the breach as the Atlesians did, Ruby. I don't understand why they'd bring in more people, though. It just means there's more of us to teach."

Weiss shook her head as she walked out of the bathroom. "It's a buffer, Blake. If there's more people who have Huntsman training, then it'll reduce the number of people willing to attack Vale."

"Or they'll just employ more elaborate plans. Ones with a harder clean-up than 'fix the hole'."

"And there'll be enough people to make the clean-up easier."

Yang and Ruby shared a glance as their partners continued to debate the merits and drawbacks of Ozpin's plan, before Yang cut in to bring the argument to an end.

"Uh, guys? I don't think you've covered the short-term here. They'll probably be invited by Ozpin and have to go through initiation, just like we did. Remember what he told us when we first got here? About how we beat out hundreds of other hopefuls to get here? Even if he wants to double the classes, that's still a lot of people to choose from. Besides, they're not our problem to deal with. Yet. So, can you both calm down before I _really_ have to get involved?" Yang blinked, feeling her eyes switch colours as she finished.

Blake cast a glance at Yang, noting the change in eye colours before looking at Weiss, who, from the sideways look she was giving Yang, had noticed the same change. "I think that's for the best."

"Yes. Let's agree to disagree."

* * *

**A/N: **REVIEW/FOLLOW/FAVOURITE

Hi reader! This is a re-working of a piece I posted here back in January, now featuring less terrible writing choices and more plot. Still going to have an OC, as that's an unavoidable part of the plot.

Chapters will be posted once a week, Monday evenings.


	2. Chapter 1: New Beginnings

"Come on, Isra! We've been had! We need to go, unless you _want_ to be found by the police!"

"Hang on, Basil, I've almost got it. I just need a few more seconds." Isra leaned out from his position in the rafters, reaching towards a large hanging Dust crystal in the room's centre. His fingers tapped along the side of the crystal, starting it to swing. His fingers continued to push the crystal as it swung closer, until he could finally grab it. Yanking it from its string, he dropped down to the floor. "Gotcha. Alright, where's our exit, seeing as you were so intent on leaving?"

"Em and Cam already bailed. We could try the back door, I'm not sure if they've locked that down yet."

"I doubt we've got time to discuss it, so let's hope they haven't. Lead the way." Isra wrapped the crystal in a rag as Basil darted out, moving towards the back of the shop, and, if luck was willing, safety.

Isra and Basil peered around the back door before stepping out, well aware of the Vale Police Department's standard operating procedure for breaking and entering. Isra looked down at the crystal he'd looted, still wrapped firmly in its rag. "Basil, I've got an idea. Get out of sight of the door." Basil raised an eyebrow, uncertain of his friend's idea and its content, but soon discarded such thoughts, nodding and retreating into the shadows of the hallway. Confident that Basil would be able to escape, Isra unwrapped the crystal. "Now, this should make quite the distraction if I get the throw right." Isra examined the crystal for a few moments, noting the size and cleavage points present, before settling on where and how he should aim for it to land and how far away he should be when it goes off. Walking back towards the storefront, Isra shook the crystal until it glowed with a faint red light. _Fire._ Isra grimaced at this revelation. _It had to be fire. Couldn't be lightning or something that'd give me a pretty lightshow._

Reaching the door to the storefront, Isra made one last check of the size of the crystal. _Bigger than my hand. Maybe half again as big. There's no way I can get far enough to not get hurt._ Isra opened the door a little, watching the bustle of activity outside the store. _Good. They're not inside._ _Should help a little._ Opening the door completely, Isra threw the crystal, aiming just beneath the front windows, and took off into the back rooms. Hearing the tinkling of the crystal shattering on the floor, he shouted for Basil to run, and braced himself for the inevitable impact. The pressure wave hit Isra first, knocking him against the wall, followed seconds later by a tongue of flame stretching down the corridor, missing him by inches. As the fire receded, Isra sighed. _That was too close. Basil better have made it out._ "Whatever. It's not like I'm going anywhere inconspicuously. Get me while I'm hot, Vale." He sighed, inspected the damage to his clothes, then shut his eyes and surrendered himself to sleep.

* * *

Bright lights soon woke Isra from his rest. Trying to discern their source through bleary eyes returned only silhouettes dressed in blue. Rubbing his eyes, Isra decided to start the inevitable conversation off. "Vale Police?"

The officer next to Isra responded. "Yes, we were called here about a B&amp;E. Now it's arson. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"

"Arson? No sir. Do I look like the kind of person who goes around burning buildings?" Isra gestured to himself, still ash-covered and slightly singed from the fire.

"Look, I'll level with you. Even if the arson wasn't you, we've still got you for the breaking-and-entering. So, if you know who or what set fire to this shop, you'd do well to say so now."

"Really, officer? While I'm sure that you might think the phrase 'No honour among thieves' is a universal constant, let me assure you it isn't. On that note, though, I will admit that no person was responsible for the fire. It was the giant Dust crystal that the owner was using for lighting in there."

"The same crystal that was missing when we arrived?"

"So you noticed. Well, there comes a time in every caper where you need to cut your losses and run. Sometimes, you forget you have an incredibly volatile crystal in your possession, and when said crystal gets uncomfortably warm, you tend to throw it away, not realising that it's going to detonate rather explosively and set a shop on fire. And that is how you wind up in a predicament like mine."

"Nice story, covers a lot of holes. It's not getting you out of that arson charge, though."

"Damn. Alright, take me to the station. Do I get a phone call? Or can I just tell you who I'm going to contact and your men will arrange something?"

"I'm open to the second."

"Thank you for your open mind. I intend to contact my parents, Michaeus and Helia Feher, and inform them that I have again been detained for crimes against the state of Vale. They at least deserve to know where I've been all night."

"Michaeus Feher as in Pastor Michaeus Feher?"

"The same. Yeah, I know, what's some altar boy doing out late at night with unsavoury sorts who break into shops? It's not difficult to figure out. I'll let you have a go."

The officer shook his head, pulling out his scroll, and began, as far as Isra could tell, searching Isra's surname in the database. As his image came up on the screen, the officer chuckled. "Thought I'd seen you before. Five prior arrests, all dismissed due to either a lack of evidence or, ahem, 'intervention'."

"That's the one. Say, shouldn't we be doing this in a secure room?"

"Why? You're expressing no interest in running, we've got the place completely locked down, and there's, quick count, four other officers here, all with body-cams. You're no more or less secure here, and this conversation is no more or less admissible in court here than in an interrogation room. But that's beside the point. Stand up, hands behind your back. Isra Feher, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will-"

Isra stood, obeying the officer's orders. "Yes, I know. Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. I have the right to counsel. If I cannot arrange for or afford counsel, counsel shall be provided to me at public expense. I understand these rights as they have been read. Done. I'll wait for you to take me to the car." Isra grinned as he heard the officer grow more discontented with Isra's behaviour. Marched out through the front door of the Dust shop, Isra nodded politely at the officers who turned to look at him, until he was ushered into the squad car.

* * *

Isra looked up from the desk he'd been placed at, only to see his parents walking in, instead of the detective he'd expected. "Oh no. Mom, Dad, I can explain. Last night-" Isra was cut off by his father. "Last night you should have been inside! We put you under curfew for a reason!" Isra stood, bringing himself eye-to-eye with his father. "Yes. Last night I should have been inside. But I wasn't. Did it ever occur to you why? It wasn't because I'm some kind of reprobate, good only to populate Vale's growing underclass. It wasn't because 'I'm just a teenager going through a phase'. It was because I am bored of the church. Bored of the robes, bored of the ceremony, bored of having to get up early to be charitable to people who, while I'm sure they have good intentions, don't seem to be making any actions towards self-improvement."

Helia leapt in before Michaeus could retort. "And what would you do, Isra? Would you tell them that they aren't trying to improve themselves? Would you try and guide them? That's not the point of the Order."

"I know, Mom. The point of our Order is to provide people with the ability to improve themselves, not the drive to do so, but it's ridiculous. Our sermons, our charity… it's a nice sentiment, but it's not doing anything. And here is where we arrive at why you're talking to me, in a police interrogation room, for the sixth time in as many months, for the sixth charge of breaking and entering. I. Don't. Want. This. The Order, the good-naturedness, the turning a blind eye, I don't want to be a part of it. I know my initiation's coming up in six months' time. I know that once I'm in, I'm not getting out. So I want you to know I don't want in. Every time I've brought it up, you've both shut me down, saying 'I'll understand better when I'm older'. How old do I have to be to be able to shrug my shoulders at dozens of people showing up for free food? How old do I have to be to smile politely as we have barely a dozen people showing up to anything that doesn't involve food? When am I supposed to accept that?"

Michaeus glowed, incandescent with rage. Before he could unleash it, however, he was stopped again by Helia. "And where would you rather go, Isra?"

Isra sighed and sat down, tapping his fingers on the table. "I know you're both mad that I don't want a part of the church, so, I worked out a solution there. There are dozens of volunteers who are infinitely more qualified than I am to manage the day-to-day affairs. As for my own plans," Isra's hands curled into fists in anticipation of his parents' refusal. "I want to go to Beacon."

Isra's father, still glowing, regarded his son almost with disgust at this revelation. "You want us to get you out of trouble for the sixth time, so that you can play hero at Beacon? I fail to see what is so great and mighty about being a Hunter to you. You'll go out, you'll fight Grimm, and then you'll inevitably be killed by Grimm. That's no life."

"It's better than what I think the church can offer. There's a lot of people who were made homeless by the Grimm. Some of them even remember the time when the Cerulans would have taken up arms for such a claim. Is it so bad that I'm trying to recapture that time?"

"Tell me, Isra, have you ever read any records of that time? The Cerulans of then were _never_ praised. We were reviled for our methods. The Hunters – the same group that operates Beacon – made sure that the Cerulans were a target of hatred. And you want to go to their school, learn their ways, all because somebody who you discarded as 'useless' not two minutes before said 'Old Cerulans would've done something'?"

"Yes. If words won't motivate somebody into doing something, then maybe doing something to restore what they've lost will. And I think the Hunters can use all the people they can get, especially if things like that Breach a couple of days back are a risk."

Isra's mother, deep in thought, shook her head faintly. "You're asking us to get an arson charge swept under the rug, Isra."

"Tell them what I told you. They let me off the hook, I'll go to Beacon, get my house in order, and they'll never have to worry about me again."

Isra's parents exchanged a glance, before leaving. Isra walked up to the door, placing his ear against the window inside it. While Isra couldn't make out any distinct words, he could recognise his mother's voice, negotiating with both his father and one of the officers. The discussion went on for a considerable period, with Isra becoming more convinced by the minute he wouldn't get his wish.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the door finally opened. Framed in it was the officer he presumed he heard outside. "I don't like this, but you've got your deal. You will be released from confinement for a probationary period to be served at Beacon Academy. In keeping with regular probation procedure, if you should happen to be justifiably tied to any criminal activity during your time at Beacon, or before you are judged sufficiently reformed, then you will be detained and the full extent of the law will be used to prosecute you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Isra nodded, raising his wrists for the handcuffs to be removed. "And the shop?"

"Your parents will pay for damages incurred."

Isra rubbed his wrists, relishing the lack of metal there. "Thank you for this opportunity. At the risk of sounding clichéd, you won't regret this decision."

The officer opened the door, ushering Isra through it. "What have I got to regret? I'm not the one who's risking a prison sentence. Especially when the alternative's Beacon."

Isra frowned at the dismissive way the officer referred to Beacon, before adopting a more neutral, if slightly chastised, expression as he approached his parents. Isra noticed his father's expression hadn't changed since they last talked. "Alright, here he is. I had the desk sergeant put in a call to Beacon as well. They just need you to confirm your son's intent, and they'll tell you where to go from there."

Isra's mother nodded, shepherding him out to the car. "You know how risky being a Huntsman is, don't you?"

"Yes, mom. I'm well aware of the risks of becoming a Huntsman. There's a few dozen books, mostly diaries, on the subject in the attic. I'm under no romantic pretences about the job. Speaking of, I'd like a key to the attic. There's a few things up there I'd like to have a closer look at, now that I know I'm going to Beacon." Isra's father, who'd been silent since they'd left, snorted at his request.

"There's only old relics up there. I don't see why you'd want to have access."

"Dad, when was the last time you went into the attic? Those 'relics' have more use than you'd think. I'm fairly certain I saw some armour up there once, and I know I could scrounge up a weapon if I looked hard enough."

"Alright, if you think you can find anything useful in that mess, I don't see why I shouldn't let you up there. You might tidy the place up, at least."

"Thanks, Dad. Is it alright by you if I go up there, Mom?"

"I'm agreeing with your father here, Isra. I don't think you'll find anything useful, but far be it for me to stop you looking."

* * *

Pulling up outside the church, Isra collected the attic key from his mother, before vanishing up the ladder into the attic, eager to track down the suit of armour he'd seen. He edged through the labyrinth of boxes, filled with books that he'd read, cover-to-cover, detailing the early Hunters, when humanity was at the brink of extinction. Whilst he searched, he could hear his parents making the arrangements for his enrolment at Beacon downstairs. What intrigued him, though, was the fact that his parents talked to whomever was on the phone in the same way they'd talk to an old friend. It was almost like he was listening to a social call, not a request for him to attend Beacon. As he listened, he narrowed down the armour's location to a single corner, stacked high with boxes and paintings. As he began climbing, he heard a sentence that seemed so uncharacteristic of his parents echoing up from below. "It's been good talking again, Ozpin, but I think we should get to business, no? We're calling in that favour." _Favours? Ozpin, head of Beacon Academy, owes _my parents_ favours?_

He paused in his climb to try and get a better idea of what was being said, only to soon be returned to the real world when the stack of boxes he was climbing began to sway. Checking around him, he pushed forwards, forcing the boxes to fall away from him. As the stack collapsed, he heard a distinctive 'clang', indicating he'd found the suit he was looking for. Moving boxes away from where the clang came from, he soon pulled up a cuirass, thankfully undamaged by the collapse, and covered in a thick layer of dust. Setting it aside, he continued digging, soon emerging with the rest of the suit, with the exception of thigh armour, which was lacking from the outset.

Arranging the armour on the floor of the attic, Isra searched around to find something to match it and, ideally, cover the rather obvious gap in the armour around his thighs. Still lying amid the scattered boxes which held the armour, Isra found a set of chain mail, which seemed to match the armour he'd pulled from the same pile. Checking to see if it covered the areas his plate armour didn't, he placed the now-completed suit inside one of the empty boxes that had been scattered, before beginning his slow descent down the ladder to the main floor. Walking through the main chapel, Isra saw his parents deep in discussion with a tall, white-haired man, almost immediately recognisable as Professor Ozpin. He would have stopped to listen, except that, given his recent behaviour and decisions, he felt that his parents might not look kindly upon him eavesdropping. So he continued onwards to the storage closet, where the grease and polish was kept. Still hearing murmurs from the conversation outside, Isra nudged the closet door open slightly with his foot, trying to surreptitiously learn as much about the conversation as he could.

"So, Michaeus, Helia told me that Isra had plans of attending Beacon. I was also contacted by Vale's police force regarding using Beacon as a type of probation in light of a particularly bad case of property damage. Assuming the two events are related, you are asking me to take in somebody with several arrests for varying crimes, ranging from petty theft to arson. Can you offer evidence to suggest that Isra's behaviour will change in any noticeable way once he arrives at Beacon?"

"Look, Oz, we both know I can't provide any evidence that he'll change once he's at Beacon. All I can say is that he was, before six months ago, perfectly good-natured and obedient. Six months ago, he turned 17, and was informed of his impending church initiation."

A note of interest entered Ozpin's voice. "A 'church initiation'? And what does that entail?"

"Isra would agree to give himself entirely to the service of the church, including any and all material possessions. He is then subjected to several tests of faith. Should he fail any of those tests, he will be stripped of whatever non-clerical status he may have and exiled from the church."

"And it didn't occur to you that this very news might be what drove Isra to crime? A sort of rebellion against a system he found wanting?"

"Of course not. We wouldn't have ensured his release had we known this was his plan. He would have been exiled after the first time and that would be the end of the matter."

Isra, having paused from his polishing of the armour to listen more intently, shut the door quietly, returning to his polishing with more intensity. He had no idea that was what awaited him if he remained with the church. All he did know was that if his life was entwined with it past the ceremony, it would be all the more difficult to leave. Knowing that his choices were now to either go to Beacon or risk being stuck in poverty without a reasonable chance to receive any form of charity, he steeled himself for whatever Beacon had to offer.

* * *

When Isra left the closet, the suit of armour was dazzlingly bright, and moved without even a hint of noise or effort. Having already been aware of the rather distinctive change in the armour's shape from lacking any cuisses, he appropriated the lower half of one of the order's distinctive cerulean robes also in the closet, cutting it cleanly in the centre to allow for more freedom of movement, before adding it to his suit. Placing the finished outfit back in the box, Isra scaled the ladder leading to the attic again, this time in search of a weapon. While he knew that the scattered boxes he'd left strewn about the attic would complicate his search, he also figured that it would make searching through the stacks of boxes that much easier if half of them were already spilling their non-liquid contents out onto the attic floor.

Returning to the pile that he'd discovered his armour in, Isra hoped to find a weapon that might hail from the same origin as the armour he possessed. It didn't take him long to find one in the form of a long sceptre, still shining despite the years it had to have lain unused. Examining it revealed a small button, rising above the rest of the rod just enough that it couldn't be accidentally pressed. He looked it over for any idea of what the button would do once pressed, but found no answer forthcoming. He held the sceptre at arm's length and pressed the button, instinctively raising a hand between it and his face, should the button he pressed result in some explosive reaction.

His concerns proved unfounded, as a grinding noise emanated from within the sceptre, only for a small tube to eject itself out of the base. He put the sceptre down, ignoring it in favour of the small tube that it had produced. A quick tap revealed it to be hollow, but a careful inspection yielded no indication of what the tube may have contained. He looked in the pile for any tubes that matched the one the sceptre had ejected and found several, each containing a different variant of Dust. _Well, this is new. I'd seen Dust-based weapons, but not ones that actually _needed _Dust to run._ He picked up the sceptre and one of the tubes, filled with a white-blue powder. _Ice? Doesn't matter, it's probably just a power source anyway._ He inserted the tube into the small receptacle that the empty tube had fallen out of and pressed the button again.

This time, the mechanisms inside worked quietly, save for a short hiss as the base of the sceptre closed around the tube Isra had inserted. The sceptre began to vibrate in his hand as it worked, with a trio of metal pieces rising from the rounded top, with two of them folding out into a crossguard while the third continued to extend outwards, ending when it was about four times the length of the rod it protruded from. Isra inspected the new additions carefully, trying to determine exactly how this weapon managed to create something far larger than itself, only for the extension to suddenly widen, transforming the longer section into a sword's blade, albeit one with the strange addition of an edge with the same white-blue colour of the Dust he'd loaded in. _So, it's a longsword with a Dust-infused blade. Not exactly a ground-breaking design._ He practiced a few slashes and thrusts that his father had taught him, smiling as he tested the balance of the blade. _Balanced towards the blade. Bad for blocking, great for heavy swings. This wasn't designed for fighting people._ He looked around for a box which may have held the weapon before he scattered them in his search for armour, eyes settling on one box with what appeared to be a scabbard still half-inside.

Taking the scabbard out of its box and inspecting it proved confusing, as the width of the throat was only large enough to accommodate the rod without the blade, not with it. Placing the tip of the sword at the entry soon demonstrated the solution, as the blade folded back into the origin rod, allowing the weapon to fit snugly within the scabbard. As Isra's hand left the grip, the scabbard extended up, surrounding the handle, save for the button that controlled the transformations, with a trigger and stock. _A rifle. Made from the scabbard. Alright, let's give this a look._ He picked up the new weapon, snorting with amusement as a set of sights popped out of the weapon's body. He nudged the door to the attic shut with his foot as he set his sights on a grey brick on the opposite wall. He pulled the trigger and watched as a small blossom of ice appeared on the brick he targeted. _Shoots the same Dust as what's loaded, I guess._ _Hope I can get the sword back._ Further inspection of the 'scabbard' revealed a button just above the trigger, near where his thumb rested. A quick tap of the button caused the mechanisms holding the sword in place to release, allowing him to retrieve the weapon again. As the barrel cleared the scabbard, the blade folded back out in near-perfect synchronisation. _So, we've got a stupidly high-tech weapon hiding out in a church attic that's a sword or a rifle, depending on whether it's in the scabbard. Perfect weapon for a Huntsman, if the books are anything to go by._

He rifled through the pile one final time, discovering several more tubes of Dust in varying states of fullness. He walked over to the private Dust supply that the church kept in the attic and topped off the ones that weren't filled before placing them in an empty box to carry back down. As he assessed his haul, he decided to search the pile for one final item – a belt to attach the rifle-scabbard to, so he wouldn't be carrying it everywhere. _Let's see… I'm six-three, and legs are half your height, or so I've heard. That means my torso's three-one-point-five. To cross it, I'd need a belt or bandolier that's about six and a half feet long. Sounds reasonable._

His search yielded nothing approaching his expectations, but it did yield two belts with just enough length to handle what he intended once he tied them together. Slinging two protrusions on the scabbard through the free holes in the belts proved an adequate sling for the weapon, as it could support its weight without either belt breaking. Returning his attention to the box of tubes, he picked up a third belt, arrayed with a series of small containers, and placed that alongside them. He made one last scan of the pile to see if anything else caught his fancy before picking up the box, sliding the sword into the scabbard and readying himself for the descent back into the church.

* * *

Descending the ladder, carefully shifting the box's weight around to avoid dropping himself or it off the ladder, he found his mother waiting for him at the bottom, looking upwards with an air of bemusement at the sight of Isra trying to carry a box down with a rifle hanging off his back by a very improvised sling. "You've been busy. Haven't seen much of you all day."

"Figured that was for the best, seeing as Dad was how he was when we left the station."

"I'm not going to say if that was a sensible choice or not, but I think you know what I'm getting at. Find everything you needed?"

Isra nodded, indicating the box he was carrying.

"Good. The headmaster at Beacon expects you to be at the school campus by 10 tomorrow morning. Lucky you that we know important people, huh?"

"Yeah. And… thanks, for not flying off the handle like Dad did."

Helia smiled. "The church life isn't for everyone. Some people, like your father, don't quite realise that sometimes. As far as I'm concerned, as long as you don't turn crime into an occupation, it doesn't matter what you do with your life. It's yours to live. Dinner's in the kitchen, if you want any."

"Thanks. I'll probably get some rest, though. Busy day and everything."

"Don't forget to eat. There won't be home cooking at Beacon, unless they let students make their own food."

"I won't, Mom. Good night."

* * *

Victoria shifted in her seat as they drove through the checkpoint, drawing a short question from Magnus. "Need to get your armour refitted, Consul?"

"No, sir. Just… nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

Their conversation was interrupted as one of the guards approached their vehicle, asking for identification. Victoria passed her ID to Magnus, who passed it, along with his own, to the guard.

"Nervous about where we're going. Forgive my reservations, sir, but there's not a lot outside the walls for the Cerulan Order. Just Grimm, some villages and a lot of ruins."

Magnus laughed at the short list the consul gave him, thanking the guard when the IDs were returned to him. "You've got a lot to learn, Victoria. There are some things that only me and a handful of people are party to right now, and you're about to be inducted into that circle." As the gate opened, he plugged in a set of coordinates into a GPS unit and passed it to her. "On that note, it wouldn't feel right to just go showing a consul around without a little work. Tell me, where do those coordinates point? Don't press the 'find' button until I say so."

Victoria looked down at the unit in her hands, and the string of numbers on its display. "Uh… do you want me to give you an exact answer, or do you want working?"

"Whichever one makes you more comfortable."

Victoria raised an eyebrow at the Princep's peculiar turn of phrase, taking a few brief moments to decipher any hidden meaning in the statement before discarding it and returning her attention to the coordinates in front of her. "Alright… Reading these directly, the leftmost is the kingdom identifier. That's the Valish code, so it's in Vale somewhere."

"Yes, and…"

"The next number is the relative location – 100 kilometres, and the letters say north-east."

"And…"

"That gives us a sector to refer to next set of numbers to. I don't have a map handy, but the only landmark I can think of that falls in that part of the wilderness would have to be…" Victoria trailed off as the location dawned on her.

"That location would have to be…"

"Sir, this is going to sound crazy, but it's Fort Penumber, isn't it?"

Magnus smiled. "Press the 'find' button and see if you're right."

Victoria obeyed the command, watching as the small computer ran through the same process she had minutes earlier, zooming in on a nigh-featureless section of land, marred only by the large black square that Victoria recognised as the ruins of Fort Penumber – former headquarters of the Cerulan Order of Vale.

"Sir, it's a ruin. There's nothing there for us to see. Unless this is some character-building exercise-"

Magnus waved her to silence. "There's only nothing there for you to see because you're looking at it from above. From the ground, there is so much more the fort has to offer. Study up, Consul, because we're going to be there for a while."

* * *

**A/N:**

Hello readers!

Now the story begins in earnest. We meet one of the new prospects for Beacon, and how he came to be there. Leave reviews, follow and/or favourite if you enjoyed it and want to see more faster.

Another chapter will go up tomorrow, in keeping with what I said in the prologue's note.


	3. Chapter 2: Introductions

Isra was woken by a knock at his door. Turning in his bed, he saw his father enter. "Get up. If you want to go to this academy, we leave in twenty minutes." His father's tone made it clear that he'd only recently been talked into helping. Knowing that his father would only wait twenty minutes, he raised himself from his bed and set a timer on his scroll. _Twenty minutes to get my kit made up and meet Dad outside. Seems doable._ He glanced over to the set of armour he acquired the previous day, piecing together how the pieces should fit in his mind before he began to don it. _Chain undersuit comes first. Then what? Cuirass? Yeah, let's go with cuirass. After that… greaves? Yeah, those then sabatons. Socks before shoes and all that. That should cover lower-body armour. Then throw the robe on to cover the fact that I don't have any armour for my thighs, and I can start in on the upper body. Pauldrons? Nah, I won't need them right now. We'll just go with vambraces and the gorget. Time check – nineteen minutes left with change. Let's go to work._

He undressed, taking a few moments to inspect himself in the mirror before he put on a pair of trackpants and a long-sleeved shirt to protect his skin from the chainmail he was about to put on. _Strong enough to hold my own against people who want to kill me, tall enough to be intimidating to the same, slim enough to fit in a vent, but just narrowly too tall to be comfortable in one. Nihil novum sub lunis._ He picked up the chainmail shirt to get an idea of the weight he was going to be putting on his shoulders, smiling as he found it far lighter than he expected it to be. He slid the shirt on, tugging on the sleeves to get it to fit him well. _Little tight, probably made for someone a little shorter, but otherwise good._ The armour proved a tighter fit, thankfully eliminating the annoying jingle that the chain was producing whenever he moved. As he tied the robe around his waist, he stood in front of the mirror again, inspecting how the armour looked on him. _Yep, just as expected. Little tighter than I'd like, but it's workable. _The sun slowly crept into his room from his window, the armour's shine blinding him when he stepped into its gaze. _And there's the flaw. Probably should have spent a little less time polishing yesterday._ He picked up one of the loose armour pieces on his bed and scuffed down the pieces he was wearing with it, continuing the process until he could comfortably endure his own reflection in sunlight. _Alright, armour's good. Time check – ten minutes left. _He slipped the twin belts over his head, reaching to adjust the fit when he noticed the buckle wasn't where he expected it to be. Instead, his hands found a note.

_Saw you had this thrown together. Thought you might want something a little more secure, so I stitched them into one. Buckle's on the opposite side to this note. – Mom._

He shuffled the improvised sling around and saw the buckle was where his mother had mentioned it. He loosened the buckle a couple of notches, allowing for the slight increase in size that the cuirass he was wearing gave him, before sliding his weapon, firmly attached to its scabbard, onto his back. The belt that was to hold the additional tubes was soon to follow, as were the tubes. He placed the box on his bed, sorting the tubes in accordance with the different Dust types they contained before placing them into pouches. _Fire on my right side, then lightning, then ice, then earth, then wind at the left. Should work out, as I don't think wind'll do anything with this._ He noticed this left one pouch unoccupied, which he slipped his scroll into as he made one final check of the time. _Six minutes twenty. Should be just long enough to pack my bag. Possibly grab some toast if I put it on now._ He considered stepping out to the kitchen, but decided against it. _When has toast taken six minutes?_ His decision made, he turned his attention back to packing his bag for Beacon. Pulling a duffel bag out from underneath his bed, he threw together a list in his head of what he'd need. _Toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, et cetera. Grab a separate bag for those, as it's not all I'm taking. Clothes – something so that I'm not wearing what I am now all the time up there. Light entertainment – a book or something. Power supply can't be guaranteed, and Basil's probably a little nervous after that stunt I pulled at the Dust store. Surprised he didn't call me yesterday, actually._ As he moved from place to place in his room, collecting what he thought necessary for Beacon, his mind wandered back to Basil and the others. _Wonder if they got found. According to Basil, Em and Cam both took off at the first sign of sirens, so they're probably safe. Basil, on the other hand, I had to make an exit for. Hope the police liked fireworks more than they liked Basil._

* * *

Basil sighed as another call to Cam went unanswered. "Damn. You sure Cam got out okay, Em?"

The Faunus looked across at him, breaking from her arrangement of the haul to answer his question. "Considering I was in shotgun when we left, I'd say he did, yes. Could it be he's trying to lay low and all your calls, in addition to racking up a bill for you, are just making it harder for him to hide? As you'll recall, Bas, Cam's about as straight-edge as they come. He's only with us because we pay well."

"You know that for a fact?"

"If he was with us for any other reason, he'd probably speak more. As it stands, he says exactly enough for us to be able to work efficiently."

Basil glanced back down at the portrait on his scroll – a stern-faced man with close-cut hair, his expression clearly telegraphing irritation at the picture being taken. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Think we should check in with Isra?"

"You said his distraction was blowing up the shop. I doubt he got away from that without being caught."

"What if he did? He's the only one of us with a semblance, and everyone knows how weird those things can be."

"You forget his semblance is the ability to Vacuise any other semblance."

Basil raised an eyebrow at his companion's turn of phrase. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Vacuise. It's like… you know what Vacuo's famous for, outside of huge deserts and a _very_ subsistence-based society outside the main city?"

"Yeah, they do cheap knock-offs of- oh. I get it now."

"Yeah. Isra Vacuises other people's semblances. Seeing as we didn't see him grabbing anyone who had a semblance, I doubt he had one to run for us."

"What if he came along with it?"

"Don't be stupid, Basil. We both know Isra fills us in on whatever semblance he's running, if he grabbed one we didn't ask for. And, considering our line of work," she waved her hand over the mixture of lien and Dust crystals arrayed in front of her, "I think invisibility would be an _incredibly_ useful semblance. Of course, knowing what we do about his semblance, I don't think we'd be able to get invisibility. Maybe a little bit see-through, but not total invisibility."

"Yes, well, even then your Eminence might serve as a countermeasure for such acts of subterfuge."

Em's hand snapped out at Basil, sending a Dust crystal flying towards him with deadly accuracy, only for it to bounce harmlessly off his forehead. "Don't call me 'Eminence' again. And stay out of the dictionary until you know how to use the big words. Next one's going to have much more force behind it."

Basil frowned, rubbing the spot where the crystal struck him as he picked it up. "You know, you still haven't got around to telling me how you got so good at throwing things."

"Long story, Basil, and I'm not in the mood to tell it."

"Dust, Em, you've been living in my apartment for almost a year now, and every damn time the doorbell's gone off you've always answered it with a kitchen knife lodged in the wall next to the door. I measured the group once when I got bored. What the hell have you done with your life that lets you throw kitchen knives off-hand with a two-inch spread?"

Em returned to her work as she replied, a bitter note behind the words. "I'm a Faunus, genius. Do the math."

* * *

Isra flew out of the church doors, bag haphazardly slung over one shoulder with his weapon's stock protruding over the other, cramming the slice of toast still in his hand into his mouth.

"Sorry I'm late, Dad. Had a little work left on the armour."

Michaeus nodded as he looked at his watch. "Nineteen minutes. Very nearly late. Get in."

Isra paused, taking a moment to check his scroll. _Nope. Timer's definitely expired. Went off while I was grabbing some food. Why would he… Doesn't matter._ A small smile formed as he opened the trunk and slipped his bag off his shoulders and inside. The reason why his father seemed to be playing with him still eluded him as he got into the passenger seat and slid his weapon off his back. He placed it between his legs, holding it in place with his knees as he shut the door. He turned his head to look at his father, only to be greeted with the sight of his father lighting a cigarette.

"You don't smoke, Dad. At least, I never saw you."

His father nodded, taking a puff and exhaling the smoke out the window. "You're right. I don't. I also didn't tell you to find your own way to Beacon after twenty minutes." He chuckled grimly as he started the car. "Guess I'm doing all kinds of things I shouldn't today."

Isra caught on to the intent behind his father's words quickly – a talent he developed out of necessity. "Things like letting his son go to Beacon, right?"

"Yep. I know you were listening yesterday. Heard about that favour and everything. For all your time using my semblance, you still haven't figured out how to avoid it."

Isra looked down at his weapon, then back up at his father. "Maybe I will eventually. What was that favour about, anyway?"

Michaeus took another drag on his cigarette, flicking the half-smoked remains out the window. "That… is a very long story."

"We're going to the skyport. I'm sure we've got time."

Michaeus looked at his son with an air of amusement. "You're not going to let up on that until I tell you, right?"

"Maybe."

"How's your history?"

"It's pretty good. Why?"

"Thirty years ago."

"Not much happened thirty years ago, Dad."

"Wrong. The head of Beacon Academy – Ozpin – made a rare public appearance thirty years ago. My father – your grandfather – and I were negotiating with him and several other Huntsmen to get the Cerulans here ingrained with the Huntsmen. Combine our knowledge and resources to try and make our jobs easier. To say the least, it was tricky. There were splinter groups within the Order that didn't want to see the Huntsmen and Cerulans united because of Penumber."

"Where the Huntsmen burned down our headquarters and killed thousands."

"The Grimm they released killed thousands, Isra. The Huntsmen didn't kill nearly as many Cerulans as some people like to think. Doesn't stop our records from chalking up Grimm kills to the Huntsmen. But I digress. Ozpin was making an appearance for… I don't remember. It doesn't matter. But it was an open-to-the-public affair, and some of these splinter groups thought it'd be a good idea to try and kill a prominent Huntsman to start their revenge. While Dad busied himself with the diplomatic side of things, I formed a group that would go to this event and stop anyone from trying to kill Ozpin. Now, when we got there, the local security – SabSec, I think it was – didn't exactly take kindly to us, as they thought we were going to try and kill Ozpin and use the excuse that we were looking for assassins as a cover. They told me that if they saw anyone approaching the stage from the crowd, it didn't matter if they were friendly or not, they would get taken down with as much force as was needed."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. I was the guy warning them. Whatever the case, I told my guys to spread themselves among the crowd and keep watch for any suspicious behaviour. My plan paid off, as one guy pulled out a bomb or something – I didn't care about what it was because it got taken care of by the Cerulan that saw him – but that wasn't all. I tried to warn the security chief about the bomb in the crowd but he told me to leave before I could say anything. As I walked away, and I should be grateful they let me walk out, I saw somebody start pushing through the crowd ahead of my improvised security. I look back at the chief and see he's too busy with something, so I decide to take my chances. I put on a pace towards where this guy is going and see him draw a gun. Now, they had metal detectors and everything here, so the fact that this guy had a gun is pretty surprising. I start running, drawing the attention of every guard in the room, and tackle this guy to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hand. I spin him over onto his front and start patting him down for any other weapons. As I search, I find something like four knives all secreted away in pockets on this guy's suit. I didn't get much of a chance to look for more, as a SabSec baton to the head is something that doesn't exactly offer a lot of mercy."

"They knocked you out?"

"Hey, as far as they knew, I was an assassin trying to frame some guy who wanted a better look. I can hardly blame them, much. When I came to, this Ozpin guy was standing over me and offered me a hand up. He asked me for my view on what happened, as they brought things rather rapidly to a close after I tackled the guy. I told him everything, from the rumours of an assassination attempt to me seeing the guy I tackled draw a gun. The whole time, Ozpin's eyes never break contact with mine. It's strange, to say the least. When I stop talking, Ozpin looks me up and down and nods. He says 'Mister Feher, it would seem I owe you my life, then. Do you happen to know who the man with the gun was?' I told him I didn't, but the gun was familiar. It had Cerulan designs on it, the Order's sigil on the handle and things like that, and he nods again. Tells me that if I ever needed anything from the Huntsmen that I just need to call. That's what the favour was."

Isra nodded as his father finished his story. "You had one on Ozpin? I'm impressed, Dad. I didn't think you did that sort of thing."

"You'd be surprised what your old man did when he was younger, Isra. But that's enough talking about the past for one drive." His hand moved from the wheel to the radio, switching it on and selecting a station. "You like Schnee radio?"

"Little self-promoting, but I'll take it."

"Self-promoting? You're the last person who should be talking about self-promotion after that stunt you pulled yesterday."

Isra opened his mouth to reply, but found himself drowned out by the sound of the radio as it began to play another song by the company's heiress. '_Mirror, tell me something, tell me who's the loneliest of all?_'

* * *

The song reached its end as the car pulled up to the skyport, and Michaeus turned down the radio. "Well, Isra, here we are. Good luck in Beacon, and don't get yourself killed up there, okay?"

Isra nodded as he opened the door, placing his weapon against the side of the car as he got out. "I'll try not to, Dad. Don't go expecting miracles."

"You're coming out of that school alive, or so help me Dust I'll bring you back from the dead myself. Like hell am I telling your mother that you died trying to avoid going to prison."

Isra laughed as he walked around to the back and retrieved his bag, his father's remark reminding him of his mother's infamous temper. _Yeah, maybe going to Beacon wasn't the wisest choice in that regard._ "I'm a smart kid, Dad. I know better than to do anything too crazy."

"Yeah, but you were still dumb enough to get caught in a burglary. Not only that, you were dumb enough to get caught six times. Most people stop after one."

"Most people aren't stuck in a situation of 'do not want' when it comes to their life either."

Michaeus cocked his head back, then nodded. "Fair point. Anyway, we've probably burned enough time here talking. Your mother's probably going to be mad that I'm holding you back from Beacon if we keep going. See you when you can get back to us, Izzie."

"Bye, Dad." He sighed as the car pulled away, leaving him standing by the roadside. He smiled ruefully as he finished the farewell with a whispered correction. "It's Isra, not Izzie." He turned around, looking up at the signs to find out where the departure lounge was. _Alright, inside and go left. Should've asked which gate the Beacon airship was due to arrive at. Ah, they've probably got desks for that anyway._

Half an hour later, Isra walked over to a section of the concourse filled with people who looked his age. _Finally. Looks like I might be a late arrival, though._ He shouldered his bag and forged ahead into the crowd of students, intent on looking like he blended in despite his armour and weapon.

His efforts were soon rewarded when a woman arrived at the gate and turned to face the crowd. "Good morning students. I am Professor Goodwitch, deputy headmistress at Beacon Academy. Form a line in alphabetical order and we shall begin."

Isra looked around and saw that the other students were all shuffling about in accordance with Professor Goodwitch's request. _Well, no reason to be defiant. Find the 'F's and fall in._ Several murmured questions and Isra had found his place in the line, twelve places from the start of the line. As the sound of the students arranging themselves died down, Professor Goodwitch spoke again.

"Very good. Please have your admission papers ready, as I will be checking them before you embark."

Isra's eyes widened, then he glanced down at his bag, frantically trying to remember if his parents had made any mention of 'admission papers' while he was around them. A quick glance along the line revealed that there were still 12 students ahead of him, with the first's papers only just getting checked. _12 people. Long enough to come up with an excuse? It better be._ His mind reeled with possibilities, ranging from the mundane excuses of 'I left them at home' to the more fantastical 'I was robbed of them on the way here'. _Or, we could always just go with the truth. No shame in honesty. Just, you know, the judgement of everyone in earshot._ A second glance along the line revealed that several more students had been checked off, putting his place in line at 4. _3 ahead of me. Decision time, truth or lie?_ A third glance was unnecessary, as he'd followed the line up to Professor Goodwitch herself. "Name?"

Isra looked the woman up and down, trying to grant his mind a few precious seconds to finalise its decision. _Truth it is._ "Feher. Isra Feher."

Isra noticed a small window pop up on the professor's scroll as she entered his name, only for it to quickly vanish with another typed command. "Go and board the airship, Mister Feher."

Isra stood slightly straighter, surprised that he hadn't been asked for admission papers like the rest of the line, or so he presumed, as he'd been too caught-up in his plans to get out of explaining why he didn't have his to notice. "Thank you, ma'am." He nodded quickly and walked into the airship, eyes searching the interior for a comfortable place to wait out the trip to Beacon.

Moving towards one of the steel girders that lined the passenger compartment, Isra placed his bag down before leaning against the girder and closing his eyes, confident that nobody would try to talk to the silent man in armour.

* * *

His confidence in his unapproachability soon proved misplaced, when he was nudged awake by one of the other prospective students. "Hey, you're actually sleeping? Dude, you're going to Beacon. How the hell can you sleep?"

Annoyed at this unwelcome intrusion into his rest, Isra decided to shut down the conversation as quickly as he could. "Evidently by leaning against a support in this ship and closing my eyes. Now, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to it. If you still insist on waking me, I would prefer if you did so when we arrive, instead of mid-flight."

The boy shrugged, undeterred by Isra's condescending reply. "Alright. What's with the armour, though? Just about everyone else is wearing, you know, regular clothes, and you look like you've just stepped out of a history book. Is it an heirloom, or…?"

"What's your name?"

"Nichol. Why?"

"Well, Nichol, some people don't really go outside much. As a result of this seclusion, they don't really know what constitutes 'normal clothing'. I've been part of a religious order for my entire life, and I figured that the robes we wore weren't really 'in vogue' with the current fashion scene. While the armour may seem a bit antiquated, it's better than a heavy blue robe, on the merit that it doesn't look like I just came from morning services. Does that answer your question? If it does, do me a favour and sod off so I can get some sleep."

Isra noticed the slightly hurt expression on Nichol's face, and felt a pang of guilt cross his mind, but refrained from acting on it, instead choosing to let Nichol guide the outcome. After a few minutes, Nichol finally aired his response. "Could you have been a little ruder there?"

_This guy's not going to let up anytime soon, is he? Could do with knowing a few names going in, though. _Isra, now having abandoned any plans of sleeping, replied in a manner he hoped was conciliatory. "I could've been, yes. But I see your point. Sorry about all that." Extending a hand, Isra introduced himself. "I'm Isra Feher. Not exactly a morning person, as you found out."

Nichol, accepting Isra's conversational olive branch, shook his hand. "Nichol Kapfer. And how many people really are?"

"Hm, not sure. Probably not anyone who says they're a morning person, though, right?" A short nod and a laugh from Nichol reassured Isra that he was pursuing a favourable direction. "Hey, you know anyone going in this lot?"

Nichol paused, considering the question. "Just about everyone I know from Signal's going, if they're not already there. I know there's also a few from the other kingdoms. To be honest, I'd say this is all people who almost made the cut at the start of the year. You know, I don't think I know where you're from. I know the Fehers, they were a pretty big name way back in the day, but I don't recall seeing a Feher at Signal. Did you go out-of-kingdom, or…"

Isra blanched at the question. _Coin flip time, Isra. Truth or lie? Just remember – Beacon's a big place, and somebody's going to call you on it if you go making things up. Truth's probably the safer bet here._ "This is going to sound weird, but I don't have any formal training. Never been to Signal or anywhere else."

"Wait, really? How the hell did you get into Beacon, then? From what I heard, it takes something _really_ special to get into Beacon if you didn't go to Signal or somewhere similar."

Isra smiled, wondering if he should maintain the truth. "I guess you could say I _am_ something special, Nick. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. So, how do you know about the Fehers?"

"Some of the books I read back at Signal kept talking about how the Fehers were one of the first families to be part of the Kingdom of Vale and manned the city walls almost constantly. 'No matter time or age, a Feher stands ready to temper Nature's rage'."

Isra chuckled as he heard the rhyme. _Not my family, but I'll take what I can get._ "Yep, that rings a bell. Figured now was as good a time as any to try and get back to basics, you know?"

"What, so you magicked your way into Beacon?"

"No, I've got skills. Fighting skills, not so much computer skills."

Nichol leaned back against another nearby girder, allowing him some comfort as he spoke. "Sounds a bit specific. How much do forged scripts cost?"

Isra reflexively answered, having dealt with people who advertised themselves as being able to forge combat transcripts for admission to places like Beacon. "Depends on who you ask. There's a guy in the industrial district that does them for 300 and a- Oh damn. You wanted to find out if I forged some combat transcripts, right?"

"Sounds like you know enough about the business."

"Long story, but I didn't pay a single lien to get in here. That much is true."

Nichol raised an eyebrow, his mind already piecing together what transpired. "You beat him into submission, then?"

Isra looked around, searching for investigative eyes and ears before responding quietly. "Yes, but not for a script. It was as a favour to somebody."

"Oh yeah? Favour to who?"

"A friend of mine. Let's leave it at that, as I'd rather not go too much further down that road in public."

"Cloak-and-dagger shenanigans? Or criminal enterprises?"

"Little of both, with some more of the latter thrown in as garnish. Just know this, Nick: If people come up asking me if I'm a criminal, I'll be coming back for you. Not a word of what I've just said to anyone, clear?"

Nichol paled as Isra advanced on him, the intimidatory effect of Isra's size and armour coming together in a truly effective manner. "Crystal." He relaxed as Isra smiled, halting in his advance and turning around. "You know, they say these teams are decided by us. If that's true, I'd really like to be on your team. Or even you on mine, whichever works." Isra shot Nichol a sideways glance as he spoke. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Isra snorted, amused by just how intimidated Nichol was by his display. "Quibus non est nostrum loca eligere." Isra paused, searching for an appropriate translation. "If we are meant to be grouped together, we shall be."

Nichol nodded, apparently displeased by Isra's response, but Isra couldn't tell if his displeasure came from him perceiving the statement as Isra declining, or thinking Isra had insulted him during it. Before Isra had time to clarify, the ship's intercom switched on, notifying those aboard that they would be docking in two minute's time and to ready their belongings to disembark. "Do you know where we're supposed to go when we land?"

Nichol picked up his bag, which had been lying next to Isra's for the entire trip, or so it appeared, before cheerily replying. "No, but it can't be that hard to get around. Somebody has to know where we're meant to go." Isra reached down and collected his own bag, before following Nichol. Filing off the airship and onto Beacon's campus, he looked around, with no small amount of awe, at the sheer scale of Beacon Academy and its grounds, before moving with a crowd of students towards the school proper. Entering a large, circular building, Isra noted that Beacon must have been receiving airships from more than just the city alone to account for the sheer number of students present, unless the entire student body of Beacon had been brought out for the ceremony. Moving further into the crowd, he kept his eyes focused on the podium at the front, and, by extension, the staff standing nearby. As the flow of students began to thin, the staff moved, with one man in particular moving towards the microphone taking centre stage. Testing the microphone, he began speaking.

"Good day, students, I am Professor Ozpin, head of Beacon Academy. Your travels have brought you here in search of knowledge." _Or to avoid a prison sentence, but knowledge fits the overall reason._ "To hone your skills, and learn new ones. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people, human and Faunus alike. A noble goal, but I look among you now, and I see not one of you capable of living up to such a goal. Noble sentiments, doubtless, are among you, but no noble people. People without temper, without fortune, without that which ensures we do not depart from those we protect. You assume that time will cure you of such ills, if you even know you have them. You assume that time, like it does all other ills, will cure this one, but I can assure you it will not. Only sheer adversity and hardship will cultivate that viewpoint Huntsmen are so prized for. Hardships like what you will encounter here, should you be willing to take the first step now. Are you?"

Having delivered his speech on the incoming students' shortcomings, he left, allowing a woman, presumably his assistant, to continue the address. "Initiation will take place tomorrow morning, for now you have the opportunity to familiarise yourself with Beacon Academy. As prospects, you will be bunked in the ballroom, and it is recommended you leave whatever bags you brought with you there. Finally, would you please refrain from interfering with lessons or with student affairs around the campus, as many activities require a level of foreknowledge that most of you probably lack." With that, she also left the stage, leaving the students to organise themselves. Slowly, the crowd took on a semblance of order, filing out through another exit, hopefully in the direction of the ballroom.

* * *

Isra was overwhelmed by the size of the school now that he had the opportunity to wander, the recommendation to visit the ballroom forgotten in his awe. His exploration occupied much of the remaining part of the day, his sense of time only returning when he looked up at Beacon's towers, lit up a brilliant orange in the dusk. "Umm, hey, are you lost?" Isra jumped, swiftly returned from his thoughts by the question. "Sorry for spooking you. You just looked like you could use some directions."

Turning around revealed that the voice belonged to a girl, much shorter than he was, with red hair and a strange red cloak that seemed familiar. "Uh, yeah. Do you know how to get to the ballroom from here?"

"Oh, you're new! That explains everything. Professor Goodwitch doesn't really consider that new people don't know Beacon yet, and Professor Ozpin tends to leave things like that to her. Ballroom is in the central building, right wing. You're approaching from the back, so it'll be the wing on your left. Need to know where anything else is? Bathrooms, where to go for initiation, the ballroom? Wait, you just asked that last one. What about the other two?"

Isra chuckled, amused by how eager this girl was to help him. "No, thanks. I'll find everything else you offered as I need to. Thanks for the help though."

"No problem. Good luck in initiation!" She shouted as she walked off, leaving Isra cursing himself for not asking about the cloak. _I swear I've seen it before…_

Isra walked towards the ballroom, deferring any focused exploration of the campus to after initiation, should he make it. As he walked in, he saw the room littered with sleeping bags and pillows, some occupied and some not. A quick scan of the room showed that very few areas of the floor offered any opportunity for uninterrupted sleep without anyone stepping on him, save for the corners. _To the corners it is, then. Probably not worth pulling out a sleeping bag right now, though. Sleeping in the armour'll give you more time to adjust to it, after all._ He cut a path carefully through his fellow prospects, navigating to the emptiest corner in the room, throwing his bag against the support when he got close enough. He pushed on certain parts of his armour, testing how much give they had before lying down, positioning himself in such a way that the armour pieces gave him some semblance of support as he slept.

* * *

Victoria had busied herself with retrieving as many records as the Cerulan database held on Fort Penumber since Magnus confirmed where they were travelling. The whole sorry history of the place was now held on her scroll, from illustrious founding by Cerulus himself to the Huntsmen's sack of the place 120 years ago. The stories of Penumber's construction were much more interesting to her, as she'd heard the stories of its destruction enough times to make her sick. However, there were some elements of the destruction that seemed… out of place, especially given the reputation of a group such as the Huntsmen.

"Sir, permission to ask questions?"

"It's about Penumber, I take it?"

"Indeed, sir. The reports say that the Huntsmen slaughtered almost everyone in the Fort. I looked at the local census of the Fort… For there to be as few survivors as our records say, the Huntsmen would have to have killed hundreds of non-combatants. Women, children, the infirm, anyone not holding a weapon. Considering how the Huntsmen style themselves…"

"That can't be right?"

"To put it lightly, sir."

"Everyone's got their secrets, Consul. Most people want their dark secrets buried, and quite a few succeed. The Huntsmen being one of those few. Good publicity will get you just about anything, especially if you say you were cleaning out a cult of Grimm-worshippers. I'm sure you've read _those_ files." Magnus' eyes narrowed and his hands tightened on the wheel as he spat out the justification the Huntsmen used for their attack.

"But killing women and children… That's inexcusable, no matter how you spin it."

"So you haven't read all of them, then. I'll spare you the effort. The Huntsmen called them 'corrupted; taken by the natural darkness that envelops all Grimm and turns them against life'." Victoria watched as Magnus grew angrier as he spoke. "Those bastards looked at us, bringing Grimm in to train the recruits, and saw a threat. Not a threat to Vale – we'd proved ourselves time and again that we could handle just about any Grimm that dared come to our walls – but a threat to them. They were scared we might be able to wipe the Grimm out. And while we still train ourselves with skills to succeed in life outside the Order, the Huntsmen don't. They specialise in fighting Grimm, so our success would mean an end to their way of life. So they came in the night, burning what they could burn and collapsing what they couldn't. They even had the gall to let our captures go. Twenty Beowolves. Five Deathstalkers. A fucking Goliath. Let's not even discuss how many Basilisks and Creeps we'd managed to bag for training. And those fucks set them free. _That_ is why there were so few survivors. You ever seen a Basilisk loose among three-four hundred people, Consul?"

"No, sir."

"Pray you never have to. Twelve seconds and the Basilisk is the only living thing left in the area. King Taijitu doesn't even _compare_ to that thing's killing power. So yes, they excused their slaughter of hundreds by saying 'the Grimm they housed broke free'. They conveniently left out the fact that every Cerulan that picked up a weapon was cut down without remorse. The only people the Grimm could prey on were unarmed and unprotected. You know that breach? I wish it wasn't stamped out so easily. The people of Vale could finally see what it was like for us. But instead, the Huntsmen intervened quickly. Never mind the fact that four of them were at the point of origin and, in all likelihood, were the cause of the fucking thing. Never mind the fact that their reinforcements consisted of the _Atlesian Armed Forces_. Nope, they're all fucking heroes. 'They saved Vale!', they cry. No, they arranged an attack and they tried to contain it. When they failed, the Atlesians and their droids came in and did their jobs for them."

"So why aren't they striking out against the Atlesians, sir?"

"It's only a matter of time, Consul. It's only a matter of time." Magnus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a dark smile creeping across his face and driving Victoria back into her reading.

* * *

**A/N****:**

Hi reader! Just calling in to say that the update schedule for this fic has been adjusted. It will now update on Friday evenings (Saturday afternoons in Australia and New Zealand).

\- Zip


	4. Chapter 3: The Red-Cloaked Girl

**SEVERAL MONTHS EARLIER**

"Isra! You there?"

Isra looked out the window to his room, only to be greeted with Basil's grinning face.

"What's up? Got a job or something that needs my help?"

Basil shrugged, reaching under the window for the latch and opening it as wide as he could. "It doesn't need your help, but damned if it wouldn't make for an easier time. You loaded?"

"What, with a Semblance? My dad let me borrow his for a few things, but it's basically dead right now. Give me five minutes and I'll have it loaded up, though."

"He's the one with the electricity one, right?"

Isra rolled his eyes at the casual manner Basil referred to his father's Semblance. "It's electrosensitivity."

"Big word. 'The electricity one' works just as well."

Isra shook his head at his friend's wilful ignorance. "Whatever works for you, Basil. I'll be out in five." He slid the window back down to its normal height before slipping out of his room_. Alright, before I leave, checklist: Semblance, check. Or soon to be check at least. Clothes? Yeah, I'm not exactly wearing anything that'll stand out. Check. Scroll?_ He fished around in his pocket for the device. _Check._ He tapped a button on the side and felt it vibrate in response. _Silent. Good._

He slowed as he approached the door to his parents' bedroom, carefully watching where he put his steps. His foot spent a brief moment near-hovering over each floorboard he planned to step on, testing them with a fraction of his weight before he put his foot firmly down. The door was treated with equal caution, his arms making practiced adjustments to how much weight the door's hinges were supporting to minimise the noise.

When he had the door opened just far enough for him to slide in, he carefully looked over the room, making certain his parents were both asleep before he made any moves. He carefully moved along the floorboards again, stopping himself when he reached the side of the bed his father occupied. _Alright, here we go._

He rubbed his hands together, hoping to dispel some of the night's chill through friction before placing one on his father's head. He closed his eyes and focused on the slight tingle at the edge of his senses - his father's Aura. _Now, bring that in line with me._

He began to embrace the tingling, allowing it to flow over into his hand and spread throughout his body. _Yes, that's how it goes. Just don't move and you'll be out before you know it._

The tingling began to subside, starting with his hand and following the same path it took as it spread. Isra allowed a brief smile to cross his lips as the tingling vanished, feeling for the new sensation in his mind - his father's Semblance, or whatever his own Aura could impersonate. _Where are you… I didn't do this for nothing, where's that- There. Let's give you a trial run._

Isra took his hand away from his father's head, freezing in place as his father rolled in his sleep_. Son of a- please tell me that was just restlessness._ A lack of response from his father caused him to relax slightly, a long exhale passing his lips. _Oh thank Dust. That would have been bad._

He felt around in his mind for the trigger to his father's Semblance, smiling as he found it and activated it. Almost immediately, his view was filled with faint electric-blue lines - the tell-tale sign of wiring in the walls and floor. A faint blue blob just outside the church indicated the van parked outside, with the few vaguely human-shaped collections of lines giving him an idea of how many people were inside. _Two. So he's bringing Eminence along as well._ He switched off his father's Semblance and watched the lines fade into the darkness_. Good. That's all in order. Let's see how much of it I've lost by the time it's needed. _

He exited the bedroom with the same care and precision with which he entered, swinging the door back to the same level of openness he found it in before stalking down the hall back to his room, making sure to step only where he did coming in.

As he reached his room, he heard the sounds of someone shuffling around inside. He shook his head and slipped in, shutting the door behind him. "Basil. What. Is. Wrong with you? You know the church is off-limits for your little 'investigations'."

Basil smiled at Isra, placing a small pad back on Isra's desk. "Lighten up, Isra. Just seeing what you've gotten up to in my absence."

"Get. Out. My room. My things. You have no reason to be in here."

Basil lifted himself back out of the window he climbed in through, continuing the conversation from outside. "We don't have any reason to be raiding a Dust store tonight, but here we are."

Isra paused a moment, considering Basil's words, before finally nodding. "You're right. We don't have any reason to raid a Dust store. Outside of 'it's doing a roaring trade and we're just redistributing the wealth'." _And I want to get out of the Order. But that's not something you need to know._

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, man." Basil shrugged, offering a hand to help Isra through the window. "Far as I can tell, it's still crime. We just aren't engaged in destructive crime."

Isra snorted at Basil's classification of crimes as he took the proffered hand. "So, remind me, what is 'destructive' crime as opposed to 'constructive' crime?"

"Constructive crime, my church-going friend, is crime that ultimately has a net benefit on society. Theft, robbery, blackmail, breaking and entering - the crimes that don't involve directly hurting people. Destructive crime, on the other hand, is all the stuff that does involve hurting people. Murder, manslaughter, battery, all the messy stuff. Things that kill people and don't really contribute anything towards society's development."

Isra dropped down onto the grass outside, dusting himself off as he replied. "Uh-huh. So we're less evil than people who practice 'destructive' crime?"

"Sort of." Basil dropped down next to him and started walking towards the van with Isra in tow. "I mean, we're still criminals, so we're not exactly paragons of virtue by society's standards, but we're not going around shooting people or blowing things up like the White Fang or those types. We're just breaking into shops, cleaning out what isn't alarmed or locked up and vanishing with as little trace as possible. Insurance company gets a workout, police forensics get a workout, shop owner gets a workout wondering how the hell somebody broke in and stole what we did without leaving much of a trace, and we get a workout lifting the stuff out."

Isra nodded at Basil's explanation. _At least he's honest about himself._ "Nice speech, Basil. Opens my eyes to your unique worldview. But, to more pressing matters. Dust shops are open pretty much twenty-four-seven. How are we going to handle the person running the counter?"

"I don't know. You're the one with the functional magic-"

"Semblance."

Basil sneered jestingly at the correction. "Functional magic, you figure it out. You say you can see somebody's nervous system or whatever with that thing, so just shock them or something."

Isra nodded warily at Basil's plan. "We've got Cam and Eminence here, why not use them?"

"Firstly, she likes to be called 'Em'. Secondly, she's a Faunus. She's got better hearing than either of us do, so she's on safe-cracking duty. Thirdly, when was the last time you saw Cam punch out a guy to help us on a job?"

"I'll remember the first point. Don't expect me to oblige it if she's not around though. The second point… that makes sense. Still, why can't she just threaten him into submission then leave me to handle clean-up? And the third, I'd say whenever our pay last went south."

Basil grinned at Isra's defense for Cam. "I'll concede that, but that's also the point where he's got a vested interest. If he didn't have to get paid, I reckon he wouldn't even step in when things go wrong. As for why Em doesn't just threaten the guy into submission, tell me when you last saw her stop at threatening a guy."

"I've never seen her threaten somebody. I've barely seen her outside of the jobs, actually."

"Take it from me, as I've been living with her for a couple of months now: She doesn't stop at threats. If she has to threaten you, it will take every fiber of her being to not take a finger or something in punishment. There's a reason why I answer the door all the time now; door-to-door salesmen have a tendency to call the police if an angry wolf-Faunus decides to take a souvenir that isn't their product."

"Sounds like a story."

Basil shook his head as he opened the van's side door, letting Isra board first. "No, there really isn't. Em doesn't like door-to-door salesmen and they don't quite realise ignoring the third 'we're not interested, please go away' and putting their foot in the door is a huge mistake."

Em looked up from her place in the van at the door's opening and the discussion. "Telling Isra about door-to-door salesmen, Basil?"

"Just proving why Isra's the only one I can rely on to control the cashier."

"You can do the job just as easily, Basil. If Isra's having second thoughts about telling somebody not to move, let him do your job."

Basil scoffed at the idea as he climbed in the van. "Let him do on-the-job valuation? He probably can't even tell the difference between weapons-grade and jewellery-grade Dust!"

"Neither could you until an hour ago."

Isra looked between the two, confusion evident in his eyes. "Wait, what? There's different grades of Dust?"

Basil shut the door and waved for Cam to start driving. "Yep. Three main kinds: Utility-grade, weapons-grade and jewellery-grade. Utility-grade gets put in everything, just in varying proportions. Also the primary component in Dust cells. Weapons-grade is the kind of Dust those fancy Huntsmen bullets are made out of, hence the name. Incredibly volatile, liable to go off if anyone with Aura touches them wrong. Non-Aura-wielding individuals like myself need to use an explosion to trigger the stuff.

Finally, jewellery-grade Dust is exactly that. High-quality Dust, almost free of impurities and good for putting into bracelets and the like. Run a charge through it and it glows real pretty. We want the last two types. Utility-grade, like I said, is everywhere. People don't care for that stuff. Weapons-grade gets you a real tidy price, but jewellery-grade gets you all the socialites who think they're getting it cheaper from the fence."

Isra nodded as Basil explained, discussing the finer points of the job as the van navigated through the criss-cross of streets to their destination.

* * *

"So, the weapons-grade stuff is going to be behind-the-counter, while the jewellery-grade is going to be in a safe somewhere."

"Not quite, Isra. The pulverised weapons-grade Dust will be in dispensers along one of the walls - all the easier for a Huntsman to get at it in a pinch. The crystalline weapons-grade will be behind the counter. Crystals are nice, but the actual Dust is where it's at, price-wise. You need to break down a crystal to use it and not a lot of groups have the machinery needed for that. However, load a handful of Dust into a tin can and suddenly you've got a grenade waiting for a fuse."

Isra looked at Basil in exasperation. "So you sponsor terrorism?"

Basil returned the look, but for different reasons. "No, Isra, I don't. But it's not like I can control who the fence sells to, can I? I'm just looking at this from the most practic-" Basil cut himself off as a song began to play through the van's radio; a futile attempt by Cam at silencing the impending argument in the back. "Cam, shut that crap off. If I want to hear Weiss bloody Schnee wax morose about how hard-done-by she is, I'll find something where she's not singing about it."

Cam shrugged, disregarding Basil's request. "It's a good song. If you want to change it, come up and do so."

Basil sized up the near-silent driver and what his range of motion would be while he was driving. "I'll pass, actually."

"Yeah, messing with a six-foot-six muscle-bound guy in a suit probably wouldn't be the smartest idea, Basil."

"Shut up, Isra. Like you would've stood any more of a chance."

Isra laughed off the remark. "I wouldn't be dumb enough to tell Cam to turn 'Mirror, Mirror', or, as you so affectionately call it, 'that crap', off. Everyone's got their taste in music, and Cam's taste is more valid than yours because he can put you in a coma. Also, he doesn't call your music 'crap'."

"Might makes right, huh?"

"Works for the Grimm, works for the Cerulans, works for me."

Basil raised an eyebrow at Isra's admission. "And here I thought you didn't think the Cerulans were that hot. You're saying they did something right?"

"They do plenty right, Basil. One of those things being 'do not mess with those humans slash Faunus that can beat you handily'. Save your strength for Grimm and all that."

"Right. Don't they have a commandment about stealing?"

"Not precisely. They tell you to 'not inconvenience your fellows through wilful deprivation', but I think the merchant is more guilty than I am in that regard. Therefore, I'm in the right by stealing."

Em, who'd resigned herself to staring out the window when Isra and Basil had begun to discuss the technicalities in earnest, cut in at this statement. "Oh, really? Sounds like something I might want to get in on. But you might want to bring this discussion to a close. Cam's doing his first drive-by now, if the scenery's anything to go by."

The three passengers all made their final preparations, making sure they were fully prepared for their impending heist. Isra tested his borrowed Semblance again, watching as the wires and cables in the shop's walls lit up in his vision, as did several figures in a nearby alley.

"Hey, are there any dealers or anything that hang out around here?"

"Isra, you're asking the wrong people. Cam's fairly straight-edge, as far as I've seen, and me and Em don't exactly partake of those kinds of things. Why?"

"Five or six guys hanging out near the store. They don't exactly look like they're admiring a dumpster, so I'm guessing something's up."

Basil glanced out the window, searching for the people Isra mentioned, only to find nothing. "Probably just seeing things, Isra. I don't see anyone. Save your magic for taking down the counter jockey and knocking out the alarms." He turned to question the other member of their three-man band.

"Em, did you see anyone out there?"

"Just the guy in the shop. Isra's right, though. Something's not right here."

Basil raised an eyebrow at her agreement. "What's up?"

"Where do I start? The smell is off, it's too quiet, there's no life here, need I go on?"

"You could start with how that makes sense to humans."

Em sighed, searching for the words to describe what she was experiencing. "Basil, I'll try and sum it up as easily as I can. The smell of Vale's streets is normally a little seedy. With actual seeds. Depending on how far from Industrial we are, there might be a hint of steel in the air. We're in the middle of Commercial. Place should reek of the rich and the poor souls they prey on. None of that here. Next: the silence. Seems normal to you, because you don't stop and listen much. But if you did, you'd realise just how strange it is for it to be so quiet now.

Normally, you hear dogs barking, the occasional car, maybe an arguing couple or two. Of course, that's all in Residential. In Commercial, you might hear a phone call for an office drone working later than expected; a van doing late-night couriering between different business campuses; the sounds of an economic heart that literally cannot afford to stop beating.

Last: the lack of life. Even though this is Commercial - the business sector - the place still needs a little life in it. That office drone from earlier. The occasional reveller, drawn in by wrong turns. Maybe just an angry drunk or somebody blathering in the alleyway. Anything to tell you that people live here. As it stands, the place is uncomfortably devoid of life. Does that quite get across what I'm trying to say?"

Basil's eyes traced along the ceiling of the van as he processed Em's justifications. "Yeah, it sorta does. But it's the kind of things we wouldn't have noticed anyway. I think we'll be fine."

"Isra noticed." Em directed an inquisitive eye towards him. "How _did_ you notice, anyway?"

Isra chuckled, trying to force his father's Semblance to manifest as noticeably as possible. "My father's Semblance."

Em cocked an eyebrow at the explanation. "Semblance? Like, Huntsmen sort-of-magic Semblance?"

"The same. I can borrow Semblances from people who have one activated. Downsides are that my imitation only lasts four hours and it becomes less and less potent as those hours go on. As long as I don't let go of the person I'm borrowing from, though, I've got it at original strength for as long as I want."

"That's fascinating. Could've done with somebody like you back at my last job. But that still doesn't answer my question."

Isra smiled, placing one hand on Em's and activating his Semblance. _If this is anything like what my father did with me, she should get the carry-over._ "See now?"

He looked over at Em when he didn't hear a response, only to see her eyes wide and nervous. He took his hand off her and watched as her focus returned to the world around her. She immediately shot Isra a dark look, concerned that he may have injured her.

"What. Was. That."

"My father's Semblance. 'Electrosensitivity'. Did you see a lot of blue lines?"

"Yeah..."

Isra let out a thankful breath. _Awesome. That went to plan. _"Those lines are electrical currents. If you saw those lines on people, that's their nervous system. That's how come I can see people in pitch darkness. Is your question answered?"

Em looked warily at Isra, edging slightly away from him. "Yes. It is. Are we done?"

Cam pulled the van up to the sidewalk, several car lengths from the shop. "Yep. Shop's just ahead of us. Seeing as Em and Isra are both saying something's up, I'm giving you guys a timer. Ten minutes, in and out. Once those ten minutes are up, I'm leaving. Anyone not in the van can find their own way back."

Basil scowled at Cam, unimpressed by the driver's declaration. "Right. Isra, Em, with me, now. Cam's giving us ten minutes, we shouldn't waste them."

The three nodded, disembarking the van quickly, wasting no time in their walk towards the shop. Basil strode up and took the lead, pulling his hood up over his head. "Remember the drill, guys. Em, with me straight away to find the safe. Isra, monitor the cashier and make sure he doesn't go for any alarms. Will your Semblance let you fry the circuits, or…?"

Isra looked down at his hands, trying to force the rush of electricity to flow into them that could disable most electronics, only to feel it fizzle out just beneath his skin. "Nope. No circuit-frying tonight. We took too long for that to be kept up. Down to the basics now. Circuit tracking, with some identification of people."

Basil sighed, adjusting the plan in his head. "Alright, so we can't be loud and rowdy. You think you can tell us what displays are alarmed?"

"As long as there are cables running off it, yes. Otherwise, no."

"Okay… This'll be a tricky one. I was hoping you could keep it together for a little longer than you have, Isra, but I'll work with this."

Isra raised his hands in partial apology. "Sorry man. If I could control how long my Semblance kept things, I'd be making it last as long as I could."

"You don't have a lot to apologise for, Is. I recall that traffic wasn't exactly working with us in Residential. I blame Vale's commut-" Basil was cut off by the sound of a window shattering ahead of them, a figure flying through it and landing in the middle of the street. "What the hell?"

The trio stopped in their tracks, trying to make sense of what they just saw. Isra was first to recover as he saw somebody rise from the street - a small girl, garbed in a red cloak and unfolding a scythe considerably bigger than she was.

"Basil, Em, I don't think this is something we want in on. Let's get back to Cam." He looked at the two and found them still transfixed by the events unfolding in front of them. "Guys. Guys!"

He grabbed them both and began to lead them back to the van, keeping an eye on the chaos he was leading them away from. _So, Scythe-Girl's kicking the hell out of… I'd say seven guys. Let's not stick around to-_ His train of thought was interrupted as one of the men fighting the red-cloaked girl bounced off the hood of a car next to him, reinforcing the need for him to get somewhere away from there.

Fortunately, his flight to the van was met with no further interruptions, allowing him to load Basil and Em aboard without incident. As he stepped in, though, he felt a cold thud echo through him from his side. Cautiously, he reached down to where he felt the impact and raised his hand in front of his face. "Cam, can you get the lights in the back here?"

A few moments passed, with Isra trying to decipher what mystery fluid coated his fingers before the lights switched on. As they did, illuminating the back of the van, Isra's hand was shown to be covered in a deep red. _Oh. Oh, damn._

"Isra, you alright?"

"Isra?"

The voices grew indistinct as he focused more on the blood oozing from his side, trying to keep himself calm to stop any more flowing out. _Level breathing. Steady heart-beat. Ignore the fact you just got shot. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Inhale…_ His eyes fluttered as he tried to maintain consciousness - a battle he was losing decisively.

"Isra, don't you dare pass out on me!" A harsh slap brought Isra back to his senses for a few moments, only for the darkness at the edges of his vision to creep back in_. Red cloak... Blood red. How… fitting…_

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks to Challos for editing this chapter, there should be a marked increase in the story quality from here on out.


	5. Chapter 4: New Friends

**A/N: **Thank you to Challos for editing this chapter. Smoothed it out considerably.

* * *

Isra, along with every other prospect in the ballroom, shot up, woken from their slumber by the school bell. He absently rubbed at a spot on his right side, the spot he'd been dreaming about. _At least that's not a problem anymore._ While they were composing themselves, the intercom switched on and relayed them their instructions for the morning, concluding with the news that initiation would take place at the nearby cliffs.

Appraising the crowd of similarly-dishevelled prospects, Isra chose to forgo breakfast in favour of properly readying himself and finding the locker rooms, which had, according to the intercom, already been assigned. Checking his Scroll for the locker he'd been assigned, he left, now using the map loaded on the scroll to guide him. _Not getting caught out again like last night._

He arrived in the locker room with little distraction, the map of the campus proving invaluable in his efforts to navigate it. As he walked in, a blip echoed from his scroll, a noise soon reciprocated from somewhere in the rows of lockers. _Some way to find your locker. Couldn't they just use numbers?_ His scroll blipped again, and the room echoed the noise in response. _Well, let's get hunting, then._

He wandered the rows for a while, searching for the locker that was making noise in reply to his scroll. As he was about to start waving his scroll indiscriminately over locks in a final attempt to brute-force the location, he was startled by the locker's noise coming from right next to him. _Found you at last. Why in Vytal's name did they think that was a good idea? Easier to read numbers than it is to guess sounds._

He placed his bag on a nearby bench and began to unpack his things, starting with the armour pieces he wasn't already wearing. Once he had the pieces laid out on the bench, he removed the rags and lubricants, placing them in the locker.

"This is some pretty nice kit. Old, sure, but you've got to respect the classics, right?"

Isra's head whipped around, revealing the voice to have come from a student – if the uniform was any indication – looking over one of the pauldrons Isra had left on the bench. Isra scowled at the intruder, taking back the pauldron he held.

"Do Beacon students normally have better?"

The student picked up another armour piece before answering the question. "You think I'm a Beacon student? No. Prospect, just like you." He placed the piece back on the bench and extended a hand to Isra. "Vardan Marist. A pleasure."

Isra inspected the boy carefully, surprised that his initial appraisal was wrong. "Isra Feher. Your gear looks a lot like the Beacon uniform."

Vardan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's actually what I was going for. You know, in case wearing the uniform is required all the time. May as well be comfortable."

"You think the regular uniform wouldn't be?"

"Isra, have you seen the way the actual students walk around? That's not comfort, that's rigidity."

"Trust me, man, that's probably heaven compared to some things I've worn."

"Uh-huh. So, where'd you come from?"

"School-wise?" A nod from Vardan confirmed the intent of the question. "That's a long story, actually."

Vardan looked around the room, then at his scroll, before taking a seat. "We've got ten minutes until initiation begins. Hit me with it."

Isra turned around, returning to his things to hide the frown. Damn. Hoped I could get out of that. "Alright, it's not a long story. I haven't been to a combat school. Never have."

"Never have? How'd you get in here then?"

"Luck, mainly. Ozpin thought I was good enough for Beacon without the pre-requisites."

"You think he was wrong?"

Isra raised an eyebrow. "No… why do you ask?"

"Easy way to get a read on somebody. Besides, if you didn't think you could get through initiation, you probably wouldn't be here."

Isra nodded slowly, strapping on his armour as he turned to face Vardan again. "Uh-huh. You make a habit of 'reading' people?"

"Just those I've met." Vardan's scroll buzzed and a girl's face appeared on it. "Speaking of, we should probably get going. You or me, doesn't really matter."

"Not getting away that easy, Vardi!"

Vardan paled as the shout echoed through the locker room. "Oh no." He looked Isra in the eyes. "Run. Run as fast as you can."

"Why?"

Vardan nervously glanced towards the entrance. "She's probably a little too much for you to handle."

"Who?"

"ME!" A girl yelled from the start of the row, sprinting down and leaping at Vardan. Vardan quickly glanced at her and leapt up on top of one of the nearby lockers, leaving the girl to catch herself in a roll further down the row.

"Going to have to be more subtle than that, Rox. By the way, Isra, meet Roxane Mallor. She's a little eccentric."

Roxane walked back to them, dusting herself off as Vardan slid down off the locker he'd retreated to. "You know me, Vardi. Subtlety's never been my strong suit. And don't call me 'eccentric'. I prefer 'unusual'." She nodded at Isra. "Who's your new friend?"

"Isra Feher, Miss Mallor. At your service." Isra mockingly bowed as he spoke.

"Vardi, what have you told this guy about me?"

"Nothing, Rox. Just that you're eccentric. Not a word about your family so far."

Roxane looked at Vardan sceptically as he responded. "Right… Word of advice, Isra, don't say 'at your service' to anyone in my family. They'll take you at face value."

"Really?"

Roxane shrugged, turning her attention fully to Isra. "Yep. That's the sort of thing that happens when your family's Mistral aristocracy for the past nine generations. My parents never went in for that stuff – part of the reason why they moved to Vale – but I've got a slew of relatives who come to visit every once in a while that really miss having servants."

"As somebody who made that mistake once, let me just confirm Rox's claim. You do not want to imply to any Mallor that's not Rox or her parents that you are beneath them. They won't let you forget it."

"Vardi, don't say anything more. I'm sure Isra understood what I was saying perfectly well without you backing me up. Right?"

Isra looked between the two, uncertain of how to respond, before settling on siding with Vardan. "You made your point pretty clear, but I think Vardan really cemented just how important it was. Even if he was a little vague."

Roxane cocked an eyebrow. "Not often that happens, Vardi. People are pretty happy to take my side in our discussions. You've found somebody rare here." She placed one hand on Isra's shoulder, locking eyes with him as she continued.

"But maybe, perhaps, he might see there's more merit in my side than he thought." Her eyes glowed a dark purple as her grip on his shoulder tightened and a faint whispering made itself known in Isra's head.

_Hold on… Is she… Alright, let's put an end to this before it starts. There is nothing here that I want to share._ Isra reached out and took Roxane's other hand, focusing on the slight tingling that surrounded her. _Come on, now, your Semblance can't be that hard to dupe if you're trying to run it on me._ He felt the tingling grow more intense as his Aura merged itself with hers, growing to a crescendo before falling to a stop as he mirrored her Semblance.

His eyes glowed a slightly bluer shade of purple as he put her Semblance to use counteracting her. "I'm sure you're a very convincing person when you need to be, Roxane. But for now I'll settle for you getting out of my head." He grinned as he saw the shocked expression on Roxane's face and slowly lifted her hand off his shoulder.

"That's… Vardi, tell me I'm not imagining things."

Vardan, who'd contented himself with watching the display, smiled at Isra's response before confirming Roxane's observation. "Yep, that just happened. You've met somebody who can say 'no' to you, Rox. Told you charisma was essential."

"Shut it. If I want to hear how great you are with people, I'll ask. Bigger things to deal with for now."

"Like how this is the fifth guy you've tried that on who's denied you? I've been telling you ever since we got here that this'd happen. People here are going to be dedicated. Sure, there's going to be a few with doubts, but not nearly enough to make it worthwhile. My advice? Become a better speaker or stick with Grimm."

Isra raised an eyebrow at Vardan's remark. "'Stick with Grimm'? Does her Semblance work better with them or something?"

"Little more than that." Roxane glanced down at the floor as she collected herself, returning her gaze to Isra when she'd recovered. "But that's not important right now. What _is_ important is how you just did that. Start talking."

Isra returned Roxane's glare with amusement, glancing at Vardan with a raised eyebrow. "She's serious, isn't she?"

"Pretty serious, yeah. Unless you think you can pull that off again, I'd get talking."

Isra looked at Roxane, handles of weapons just barely protruding from beneath her coat. _Hell, humour them. It's only fair._ "So you want to know what I did. It's simple, really, no more difficult than your Semblance. I can imitate the Semblance of anyone I touch. Is it perfect? Not unless I'm still touching them. The moment I break contact, it gets weaker over the next four hours, then it dies. As an example, one Semblance I cloned was 'Impulse'. It let you create points of incredible force on things. The master copy – the guy who had this Semblance naturally – could cave in a wall with a finger. He'd just tap the wall and the wall would just begin to crack and splinter – even with concrete walls – until it exploded, always away from him. I grabbed it once, for a quick bit of fun, and I didn't have nearly the same results. Best I could do was splinter wood. Nowhere near the potential of this guy."

Vardan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at Isra. "Sounds like a cool Semblance."

"Cool, but hampered. If it was one-to-one replication, then it'd be cool. This is just a useful one."

Roxane cut back in on the discussion. "You still haven't explained how you knew what I was doing."

"Glowing eyes, noises in my head and a physical bridge – that's your hand on my shoulder, by the way – tends to paint a picture that says 'I'm going to try and mess with your head'. You're not the first person who's tried something like that on me."

"But it _was_ working on you?"

"There were whispers telling me 'obey', I felt a compelling need to go along with you, I just happen to be less-than-receptive to that kind of persuasion. So yes, it did work for a bit."

Roxane looked down at her hand, watching as her palm took on a purple glow. "Well, it's not supposed to be just whispers; you're supposed to feel a little pain if you disagree." She shook the glow from her hand and looked up at Isra, eyes wide with anticipation. "Want to try it again?"

Isra nervously smiled back at the girl and shook his head. "I'd really rather not." _Like hell am I letting her back in there. She wasn't expecting resistance the first time. Now she's prepared for it._ "Besides, Vardan said something about your Semblance working better with Grimm. Care to elaborate on that?"

Roxane frowned, disappointed that she wouldn't get to test herself again. "Yeah, my Semblance works better on Grimm. Gives me almost-unlimited control over them, as long as I can get within touching distance."

"Not all Grimm, though. Rox learned that pretty fast."

Roxane shut her eyes and took a deep breath, her voice wavering slightly. "Vardi, I'm going to ask you to shut up. That is _not_ something I'd like to revisit."

Vardan nodded, leaning back against a locker. "Yep. Sorry, Rox. Isra, if you want to know about it, come find me after initiation."

Roxane sighed, her voice steadying. "I'd rather you didn't tell him, but there's not a lot I can do to convince you otherwise, is there?"

Vardan shrugged, a tired tone entering his voice. "If you were a little more adventurous, then maybe you could convince me. But as it stands, no, there isn't. Besides, it's an interesting story."

"It was a nightmare. Nothing more, nothing less. And don't give me the 'adventurous' crap again. I'm plenty adventurous, just not where it seems to matter to you."

Isra stepped back, finishing his preparations as the two continued to bicker. Once he'd comfortably assessed the fit of the remaining pieces, he finally intervened in their argument. "Hey, you two. Could you both take a minute to realise you've got an audience here and shut up? Don't get me wrong, your disagreement makes for amazing background noise, but I'd love to be able to hear any notifications about where and when initiation is taking place."

The two paused in their speech to look at Isra in silence before Roxane replied. "You don't have to stick around here either. In the interests of me and Vardi continuing to argue, I'm going to ask you to leave if our 'disagreement' annoys you that much."

"He's got a point, Rox. We've burned…" Vardan trailed off as he checked his scroll. "We've burned six minutes here talking. Initiation's at the cliffs, which is a bit of a walk, and we've got four minutes to get there. I say we put this on hold for later and make tracks. Work for you?"

Roxane glanced at Isra, then back at Vardan before nodding. "Yep. Let's go."

* * *

Isra walked slower than his companions, letting them take the lead and affording him the opportunity to get a full visual inspection of their gear. Know thy enemy, even if they aren't your enemy. Never fails. He started with Roxane, inspecting her clothes for any additions or alterations that might seem unusual.

_Let's see… long coat, unbuttoned. I saw her weapons back in the locker room, with the holsters on the inside of that coat, so it's not going to be buttoned up. Rest of her clothing seems a little loose. Not ill-fitting, but billowy. Like she wants to look a little bigger than she is. Probably not looking to fight people, at any rate. Too easy to get a good grip on loose pants and blouses and the like. _

_The haircut's about the only thing that shows she's put any thought into fighting people, now that I look at it. Nice and short – no grip possibility there. Now for Vardan. I don't care what he says about Beacon's uniform being uncomfortable, trying to clone it's only going to be troublesome._

He switched his view to the brown-clad boy, debating his choice of attire as he looked. _Red hair. Long red hair._ He smirked as he worked his way down. _Longer than Roxane's, funnily enough. Wonder if that comes up between them. As for his gear, that looks like it belongs in an office. Tie, waistcoat, dress shirt, jacket, slacks – are the Marists some kind of business tycoons or something?_

"Hey, Isra! You having trouble keeping up or something?"

Isra snapped out of his assessment at the question. "Huh, what? Oh, no. Just… lost in my thoughts. How much further to the cliffs?"

"Just over this rise. Put a bit of speed on, though. We're down to two minutes and I don't think they take kindly to latecomers."

"It's a miracle they let you in then, Rox."

Isra rolled his eyes. _Didn't take them long to get back to sniping at each other._

"Not now, Vardi. You want to start taking cheap shots like that, you can start once initiation's started. Let's just make sure Isra doesn't go wandering off first."

Vardan shrugged, nodding at Isra's armour. "I'm sure he can handle himself."

Roxane glanced sceptically at Vardan. "The last person you thought could 'handle themselves' wound up with Dust-based injuries across his torso and right arm. Forgive me if I don't trust your opinion on these things."

Isra shook his head as he walked between the two, leaving them to their bickering as he joined the small crowd before them. His respite from conversation proved short-lived, however, as a voice came from behind him.

"You look… different."

Isra turned his head in the direction of the voice, revealing it to have come from a girl about his height with dark hair that almost seemed to glow. "Same can be said for you."

The girl smiled bemusedly. "I'll take that as a compliment. So, Knight-in-not-so-shining-armour, what brings you to Beacon?"

Isra chuckled at the name his new conversational partner had invented for him. "It's Isra. And why I'm at Beacon is… not exactly a story I'm willing to share. I'm sure you understand."

The girl leaned back on her heels, eyebrow raised. "Secret, huh? Fair enough. We've all got our skeletons and other unpleasantries. Eira Sable. Pleasure to meet you, Isra. Pardon me if I don't shake hands."

"Isra Feher, if we're going for surnames. And I don't blame you for that. What brings you to Beacon?"

"Love to tell you, Izzie, but it seems like Professor Ozpin's about to start. Wouldn't want to talk over him."

Isra shot Eira an annoyed look before turning to face the front of the crowd where, true to Eira's claim, Ozpin stood, ready to speak.

"For years, you have trained to fight. Whether in a tournament capacity, with aims of joining the military or to become a Huntsman proper, Beacon will not discriminate. Neither will our test. Over the years, you have doubtless accumulated skill enough to be considered for this esteemed school, and that skill will be proven below, in the Emerald Forest."

The professor motioned to the vast expanse of green behind him. "Now, many of you will have heard about how initiation works from the students here. More of you will be aware of the teams that we organise students into. The organisation of such teams will take place in the forest." He paused, allowing the prospects a moment of respite to organise themselves and try to pick out their teams in advance.

"You think he'll let us pick our own, Izzie?"

"It's just Isra, Eira. And I think there's more to this than he's told us."

"Good to see I'm not the only one who thinks that."

A woman standing next to Professor Ozpin, who Isra quickly recognised as Professor Goodwitch, began to speak. _Man, how much does she do around here? She handled entry, she's handling initiation… Is Ozpin just a figurehead or something?_

"Do not believe that teams will be left entirely to your discretion, as that is not the case. Your teams will be assigned based on a set of criteria that you will be graded on. However, you will have the opportunity to select your partner down in the forest." Another ripple of happiness spread through the group as she said that.

"More to come again?"

"Yep."

Eira and Isra exchanged a curt smile as Professor Goodwitch continued. "Your partner will be the first person you interact with in the forest. Be it through trading blows, escaping Grimm, or simply chance, you will be stuck with that person for the next four years. I would suggest you prepare yourself to be partnered with anyone here."

Ozpin sipped from his mug as sounds of disappointment and more plans were made by the gathered prospects. "After you've found a partner, make your way to the northern edge of the forest. You will find a temple there containing several relics. You and your partner are to select a relic and then return to the cliff top. Your choice of relic, as well as your conduct within the forest, will be taken into consideration for your grading." Sounds of disappointment soon turned to worry.

"A final warning: Grimm will be present in the forest. They will have no hesitation in fighting you. They will have even less in killing you. It is expected that you will defend yourselves to the best of your ability."

Surveying the crowd, he finished with a simple question. "Does anyone have any questions regarding this exercise?" He smiled, noticing the lack of response. "Good." He gestured to the stone platforms behind him. "Assume your positions."

Isra looked around as everyone shifted themselves in preparation for the beginning. Looking to his right, he saw Vardan grinning. "How is this fun to you?"

"You've got to admit there's a rush to being flung over a forest, Isra."

"For you, maybe. Look at me. There's not going to be much flying with me." To reinforce his point, he waved a hand over the full plate armour he was clad in.

"Hah. Yeah, I can see that being a problem." A pair of knives appeared in Vardan's hands. "Tell you what, if I see you come down, I'll make sure you're still breathing."

"What, you'll partner with me?"

"Rox could do with the socialising. Besides, she's not exactly helpless down there, if the Grimm thing was true."

"Right. She can get inside their heads or something, yeah?"

"Dominate them. If she wants one to dance, she can make it dance. That kind of thing. Good luck."

Isra raised an eyebrow at the addendum to Vardan's explanation, only for the ground to suddenly vanish from beneath him as he was catapulted into the air. _Should've prepared for that._


	6. Chapter 5: The Forest

Isra reoriented himself just in time to see the treetops come rushing up to meet him. He reflexively brought his forearms up to shield his face as he straightened his body to minimise how many of the trees he hit. _Just like going through that one skylight. Only thing is, this time the spot below's more likely to have Grimm than it does people._

He plunged through the canopy without injury, to his relief, only to be abruptly reminded of the ground beneath the trees as he landed. His feet hit the ground first, only for his momentum to carry him forwards, knocking him onto his chest and sending him skidding for several feet. _By the Widow… I hope that doesn't become a regular thing._

Isra plucked himself from the small crater his impact formed and checked himself for injury. _Nothing broken, nothing overly bruised, I'd say that went better than expected._ He unslung his weapon and shouldered it, checking the surrounding environment for any movement before he planned out his next move.

He relaxed slightly as his rudimentary inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary. "That's good. Nothing trying to kill me yet."

"Don't get your hopes up, Isra. There's plenty of forest between us and the temple."

Isra whipped around, aiming his rifle squarely at the unexpected intruder.

"Hey! Easy there, man. Save your ammo for the Grimm." Vardan raised his hands, palms open in surrender. "Last thing I want is to be a friendly-fire statistic here."

Isra sighed and lowered his weapon. "Damn it, Vardan. Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people like that?"

Vardan grinned, lowering his hands. "Only when it's fun. Anyone else swing by?"

"Not that I saw."

"So Rox hasn't found out my plan then. She'd be all over this place if she had." A pair of pistols appeared in his hands out of thin air. "Want me to lead?"

"You know where we're going?"

Vardan nodded, pointing just ahead of himself. "Temple's that way. Saw it on my way down."

"Yeah, you lead then. How'd you do that thing with your pistols?"

Vardan replied reflexively, a hint of sarcasm in his response. "Magic. Stay close. I heard Beowolves while I was getting here."

Isra cocked an eyebrow at Vardan's curt explanation of the event before shelving the matter and inquiring about the more pressing matter. "How many Beowolves?"

"Don't know, couldn't get a good view. By sound of movement, I'd say between eight and twelve."

Isra re-shouldered his weapon, scanning the surrounding trees again for movement. "Then let's get going. I don't exactly plan to get mobbed by Beowolves."

"Great minds think alike. Follow me." Vardan moved off into the forest, with Isra close at his back.

* * *

The two moved through the forest with caution, alert for even the slightest disturbance in the foliage around them. After a while, a distinct thumping became obvious to them, bringing them both to a halt. "You hear that, Vardan?"

"Yep. Sounds like Ursa."

"One, or…"

"Let's hope it's one. Means it's got bigger problems than us."

"Bigger problems?"

"Problems big enough to kill an Ursa. Problems which, with any luck, will be too busy trying to take down the other Ursa to go after us."

The thumping grew louder and they readied their weapons, preparing for the impending fight. The bushes began to rustle as the Grimm's approach rattled them and Isra and Vardan took up positions watching half of their clearing each. The bushes fell silent again, leaving only the sound of their breathing to fill the silence. "Three… two… one…"

"Why are you counting?"

"I've got a hunch."

Suddenly, the Ursa they'd awaited flung itself clear of the bushes, planting itself in front of Vardan with a yell. "WOO! BEAR FORCE!"

Vardan stepped back, inspecting the Grimm before breaking into laughter. Isra kept his rifle firmly levelled at the Grimm's head all the while, only to be waved down. "Relax, Isra. Check the markings and tell me what's different."

A cursory inspection revealed the obvious change in marking for the Ursa compared to others of its kind – the red highlights that ran along the bone plates were all a vibrant shade of purple. "It's purple, not red. What's so funny?"

"Vardi? Isra? That you guys down there?"

Isra's eyes widened as he realised exactly what had just transpired. "Roxane?" _She's riding an Ursa?_

"Holy- I didn't think I'd find you guys!" Roxane popped up over the Ursa's shoulders, sliding down one of its forelimbs to reach the ground. "Yeah, I'm riding an Ursa. This isn't a big deal."

"To you. How did you…"

"Get it to let me ride it? It's my Semblance, remember? I can get this thing to do anything short of kill itself. Or speak. Doesn't have the vocal chords to speak."

Isra walked around the Grimm, wondering at how Roxane could have so easily taken control of something which, for all he knew, could go rogue and kill them without a moment's notice. One thing that stood out, however, was the fact that Roxane never took a hand off the Grimm at any time. "I knew your Semblance was Grimm-related, but I didn't expect you to make a lapdog out of an Ursa. One question, though. Why the hand?"

"Huh?"

"Your hand. It's always touching the Grimm. That part of your Semblance?"

"Sort of. If I take my hand off it, there's about a minute while it switches back on, then it's 'run for your life' time because it knows that somebody just played with it and now it's even angrier. I can take my hand off, if you'd like to see it in action."

Isra shook his head. "No thanks. Once I'm certain I'm in Beacon, then maybe I'll give it a run."

"Sure thing. I'll hold you to that, though. Always wanted to see one of these things berserk."

Isra froze up as he heard Roxane. _She wants me to be her test subject? Wonderful. Just wonderful._ He turned his attention away from the large bear in the clearing and back to his partner. "Hey, Vardan, you there?"

"What's up?"

"Think we should get back on our way to the temple?"

Vardan looked up from his position in the centre of the clearing, checking his weapons. "Yeah, that's probably a thing we should be doing. Hey Rox, room for two more on that thing?"

"If you can find a grip, sure." She leapt back up on the Ursa's back, grabbing a handful of its fur in one hand and drawing an SMG with the other. Isra climbed up behind her, straddling the Ursa's back with some difficulty.

"Might I suggest, Isra, that you ride this thing side-saddle? I'm straddling this thing, but only because I'm basically on its neck. You take left, Vardi can take right."

Isra followed Roxane's instructions, seating himself with his legs half-hanging off the creature's side. "You don't have a partner yet?"

"Not many people are keen to stick around when they see an Ursa."

"So you've met people?"

"People have met my Ursa. I haven't met people." Roxane shifted herself on the Ursa, moving slightly back onto its shoulders to accommodate for the slight change in weight on it. "You on, Vardi?"

"Yep. Don't move too much, Isra. We're using the same muscle for seating, I think. Need me to guide us to that temple, Rox?"

Roxane shook her head, her eyes taking on a purple hue as she engaged her Semblance again. "Nah. This thing's more local than we are. Just got to figure out how to tell it."

Isra glanced at the Ursa beneath him, then back up at Roxane. "It doesn't understand you?"

"It doesn't know what 'temple' means. I can tell it what a temple is until I die from exhaustion, but it still won't know. So I've got to run through its mind to find out what its name for the temple is."

"Sounds like fun."

Roxane snorted at Isra's attempt at comedy. "It's not. A Grimm's mind is incredibly chaotic. Thanks for the conversation, by the way. Means I don't need to listen to the traffic in there. Usually all it says is ridiculously dark in tone. 'Kill', 'maim', 'die', all the rest."

Isra searched for a response, but found none forthcoming. "Uh… okay. I didn't know Grimm thought in words."

Roxane shook her head. "They don't. Not in words we understand, anyway. A lot of what I'm seeing is pictures, so I'm making a best guess as to what they mean."

"Huh. Learn something new every day. Found that location yet?"

A quiet nod punctuated Roxane's swivel to face the direction the Ursa looked. "Yep. Going to have to be quiet, though, because it really doesn't like that place."

"Why do we have to be quiet? Also, what's it got to be afraid of? It's a giant bear."

"I need to focus carefully. People speaking doesn't make that easy. As for what it's scared of, I'm seeing 'spike death' and 'air death' and 'human'. Considering Grimm don't fight each other, I'd say that the first two are natural hazards. No idea what 'spike death' could be, but 'air death' could be a fall or something."

Isra frowned at the news, concerned by exactly what an Ursa had to be scared of. "Sounds great. Shall we depart?"

* * *

Isra kept careful watch over his side of their transport, wary of any movements in the bushes. Despite Roxane's assurances that Beowolves and Boarbatusks were hesitant to approach Ursai like the one they were riding, he knew better than to put his faith in the nature of beasts.

"All clear on your side, Isra?"

Isra scanned the forest on his side for anything strange. "Yep. How about you, Vardan?"

"Yeah, it's all quiet here. Kinda weird, really. With all the mention made of Grimm, you'd expect at least one to have shown."

Isra smirked, pointing at the creature they were riding. "We're riding an Ursa."

"Yeah, but I'm talking about Grimm other than this Ursa. It's just… if they tell you a forest has Grimm in it, you're probably not expecting 5 Grimm, you're expecting to round a tree and find a pack of Beowolves or something."

"So, you think we're being set up?"

Vardan shook his head, shifting himself slightly higher on the Ursa's back as he did. "Nope. I just think that whatever's keeping Grimm at bay is something we should worry about as well."

Isra nodded, returning to his vigil with renewed intensity. "You've got a point. Sounds like you've got experience dealing with Grimm strangeness. Or is this just another hunch?"

"Little of both." Vardan made one final look at his side of the Ursa's surroundings before turning around.

"Care to elaborate on that? Pretty cryptic as it is."

Roxane looked over her shoulder at her two passengers, stopping the Ursa and rotating herself around, keeping one hand firmly on its back. "What he means is that he's pretty good at figuring out how Grimm work and why they do what they do. It's not due to any 'raised by Grimm' thing or anything. He just lives outside Vale."

"He knows how Grimm work because he lives out in the wilds? That's a bit far-fetched."

Vardan smiled, sliding his pistols into their holsters on his back. "Not as far-fetched as you might think. The village I come from has an… impressive Grimm problem. I'm talking 'Huntsmen teams coming through every couple of weeks' impressive, by the way. Part of the reason why-slash-how I got into Beacon. Story for another time, though. Right now, what matters is what's up with the Grimm and why there's not many of them around.

The answer to the first could be any number of things, all of them beyond my ability to explain. The second's a little easier to figure out. My guess? They're going after the more nervous people. Considering the Grimm's attraction to sadness, anxiety, anger and the like, they're lit up like a fireworks display. I know Rox has yet to find something she can fear unequivocally, I know Grimm don't scare me much anymore, so unless you're much better at hiding your fear than I expected, we're not going to make much of an impression on the Grimm."

Isra cocked an eyebrow. "'Better than you expected'?"

"Well, yeah. You said you'd never gone to a combat school. That means you either went to a special private school, your parents got a tutor, or you got your training from experience. Seeing as you're running some old gear, with the exception of that weapon – that looks pretty recent, tech-wise – I don't think it's the last one. A decent tutor would make sure you had some modern-looking kit, so that discounts option two. That means you probably went to a private school, where they don't do stress training so much. They teach you how to put on a brave face, but they don't teach you how to manage your thoughts."

Isra smiled as the options were explained and debunked before him. "And what if I said you're completely wrong? What if I have no formal schooling whatsoever?"

"Firstly, I'd call you a filthy liar. Secondly, I'd shove you off the Ursa because of how terrible that lie was. What now?"

Isra forced his voice into a neutral tone, dropping the smile from before. "I have no formal schooling whatsoever. Everything I know about the Grimm and fighting them I learned by myself."

Vardan grasped some more of the Ursa's fur, beginning to clamber over to Isra's side. "I warned you. Off you go."

Isra grabbed a clump of the Ursa's fur, holstering his weapon to double his grip. "Not lying, Vardan. I have never seen the inside of a proper classroom. You know how you said you'd tell me more about Rox's Semblance after initiation?"

Vardan paused in his advance, grabbing another handful of the Ursa's fur. "Yes, I do. You want to make a similar deal? I don't throw you off the Ursa and you tell me everything after initiation?"

Isra nodded. "Sort of deal. Sound fair to you?"

Vardan grinned as he edged back over to his side of the Ursa. "Yeah, that sounds fair. Doesn't matter now, though. I already figured out you were lying when you freaked out and grabbed the Ursa."

Isra unholstered his weapon and returned his focus to the forest in front of him. "That wasn't fear of Grimm. That was 'oh damn it, now I've got to figure out where that temple is'."

Vardan chuckled at Isra's defense, his pistols reappearing in his hands. "Whatever makes you feel better, Isra. Rox, how long until we get to the temple?"

Roxane spurred the Ursa back into motion, motioning for her passengers to be quiet. "Not far. I can't be more specific than that."

Vardan nodded, one of his hands moving to the Ursa's side to steady himself. "You never can."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks again to Challos for editing this chapter.


	7. Chapter 6: The Relics

Their journey towards the temple was met with little interference, the forest eerily silent save for the occasional gunshot or roar in the distance. Isra and Vardan, in light of this calm, lowered their guards slightly, taking time to check their weapons and armour. The Ursa's rolling gait proved at first an obstacle to their inspections, but they quickly adjusted to working around it in the silence that their driver demanded. A silence that was broken by the driver herself.

"Hey, guys. The Grimm's picking something up just ahead of us. It's alive, and it's waiting for us."

Isra and Vardan immediately brought their weapons up and slid down off the Ursa. "Roxane, keep the Ursa back. Vardan and I will see what that 'something' is." He brought his rifle to his shoulder as he reached the ground. "Can you tell us anything more than 'it's alive and waiting for us', or is that the limit of that Grimm's senses?"

Roxane shook her head. "There's too many scents. Human and Grimm alike. There's residual Aura there, so somebody came through recently. Sorry I can't be more helpful."

Isra nodded, motioning for Vardan to lead the way through the bushes. "Here's hoping it's not Grimm."

Vardan smiled grimly and pulled back the slides on his pistols. "You and me both. It'd make for a great story if we got through Initiation doing nothing but riding an Ursa."

Isra chuckled as he followed his partner in. "That it would."

The underbrush proved thicker than it looked, as it took longer than the few seconds they expected to cross through it. When they exited into the next clearing, they found it curiously empty, save for a small pile of smoking Beowolf corpses in the centre.

"Check it out. Looks like we were a little late to the party."

Isra nodded as he lowered his rifle slightly. "Yeah. Thing is, these bodies are fresh. Grimm disintegrate after a little while, or so I read. Why didn't we hear fighting?"

"Sniper?"

Isra scanned the trees for any glint that might prove Vardan correct. "If that's the case, then they can see us. Which begs the question of why they haven't come out."

Vardan shrugged, gesturing to the pile of Beowolves. "Maybe they were checking to make sure we weren't one of those things. Because we clearly aren't Grimm, they've moved on. No sense sticking around to say 'hi' to random prospects, or something."

"Try and solo Initiation? I won't say I don't envy them the opportunity."

"You asked for my help making sure you didn't get your ass kicked by the leap. I'm not sure how you think you would've fared any better against Grimm."

Isra shook his head and began to walk over to the pile of corpses. "Grimm aren't gravity. Also, I don't recall asking you for help. I recall you _offering_ to help, though."

"Eh, one person's asking is another person's offering. What's your plan with the bodies?"

Isra kicked at a stray leg. "Make sure they're dead. Like I said, the bodies are fresh. I'd hate to find a live Beowolf in the pile."

Isra's kick provoked a response from the pile, prompting the two to take several steps back from the pile and ready their weapons.

"You see that, Vardan?"

"Yep. Something's in there. Think it's a Beowolf?"

Isra shook his head, applying a little pressure to his rifle's trigger. "Maybe. How smart are the Beowolves you've faced?"

Vardan flicked the safeties off on his pistols, aiming them at the pile. "Not the brightest sparks. I wouldn't say they're too stupid to hide among their dead, though. Think we should put a few rounds in there?"

"Better safe than sorry, right?"

Isra brought his rifle to his shoulder, using the simple iron sights on it to line up his shot. _Now, if memory serves, this thing's loaded with ice Dust. Not exactly going to be 'lighting up' the pile, but it'll definitely get a reaction._

He squeezed the trigger, sending a single round into the pile where it burst, showering the body it struck in shards of ice. Isra's weapon got an approving nod from Vardan before he opened fire on the pile in turn, shredding the bodies with a hail of automatic fire. The fusillade soon stopped as a noise that had no place among a pile of Grimm bodies became steadily more distinct. The sound of clacking metal, and the faint tinkling of bullets bouncing off each other.

"Vardan, cut that out."

"It's not me. Sure it's not some of your gear?"

Isra quickly looked over his armour and weapon. "Nope. It's not me. Check your things."

"I don't have a lot of moving parts, Isra. Which means…" They both looked at the pile of bodies, weapons readied in case of any response.

"Hey, you guys done shooting out there?" A muffled voice from within the pile drew their attention.

Isra and Vardan shared a short glance before Isra advanced on the pile, rifle ready for any further reactions. "Who's in there?"

"You're not going to start shooting the pile again?"

Isra lowered his rifle slightly. "I'll do my best not to."

The voice from the pile sighed. "That's all I'm getting out of you? Whatever. I'll work with it. Friendly coming out!"

The pile rustled as whomever the voice belonged to moved around inside it, culminating in one of the bodies suddenly launching itself out of the pile into a hail of gunfire from Vardan.

"Hey! I said 'friendly coming out'! I thought that would be good enough to not get shot at!" A girl rose out of the hole that the body had created in the pile, holding a large shield in front of her.

Vardan ejected the magazines from his pistols, sliding in new ones. "My apologies. I wouldn't exactly call a flying Beowolf a 'friendly coming out'."

The shield collapsed down into a bracer on the girl's forearm as she stepped out from the pile. "Yeah. Probably should have warned you about that." She looked around the clearing as she stepped out, her eyes settling on Isra. "Hey again, Izzie. Funny we should meet down here."

The girl's casual greeting of Isra drew a raised eyebrow from Vardan. "'Izzie'?"

Isra frowned, holstering his rifle. A quick visual inspection revealed it to be the girl who'd spoken to him in the crowd before Initiation. _Pale, dark hair, weird glow included – how does she do that? – grey t-shirt, cargo pants, tactical vest – or something that looks like one; I'd say that's her._

"Isra. And hi, Eira."

Eira smirked at Isra's correction of his name. "Seems like you partnered up well."

"Where's yours?"

Eira shrugged, pulling a carbine out of the pile of Beowolves and holstering it over her back. "Don't have one."

The casualness of her response drew a raised eyebrow from Isra and Vardan, only for their response to be cut short by a rumbling. Isra immediately looked at Vardan, who shrugged and looked at the underbrush they'd emerged into the clearing from.

"Vard… please tell me that's not who I think it is."

"If she wants to come find out what all the shooting was about, nothing's going to stop her. And since she's riding-"

"BEAR FORCE!"

Vardan and Isra both turned to witness Roxane's Ursa bounding through the bushes into the clearing, Roxane waving an SMG around with reckless abandon as she arrived. Isra, faintly aware of the sound of a gun being cocked behind him, returned his attention to Eira, who had her weapon levelled at the Ursa's head.

"Eira, don't shoot it. It's friendly."

"Right, Izzie. Everything's friendly until it's trying to kill you."

Isra put a hand on the barrel of Eira's carbine, forcing it down. "This one's friendly as long as the girl on top of it doesn't let go. When she lets go, that's when you should be worried."

Eira shook her weapon free of Isra's grip, re-aiming it at the Ursa. "Pardon me if I'm not so quick to trust."

Roxane slid down off the Ursa's back, keeping her hand on the side of its neck as she did so. "He's not lying. As long as I've got a hand on it, it's going to do pretty much whatever I want." To prove her point, she steadily walked forward, the Ursa moving in pace with her until she was mere feet away from Eira.

"See? This one could've killed you right now. It didn't, because I'm here. I've got this thing handled, so you can take it easy. As long as my hand stays on it, we don't have a problem."

Eira relaxed slightly, drawing a smile from Isra as he walked off. "Right. Just a warning: if that thing makes _any_ moves in my peripheral vision, I don't care how controlled you've got it; I _will_ blow it away."

Roxane nodded, pleased that she'd persuaded another student to accept the Grimm she was handling. "Sounds good to me. Roxane Mallor, by the way. Sorry that I don't shake hands."

Eira slowly holstered her carbine after the introduction, still wary of the large Grimm that they shared the clearing with. "Eira Sable. Who's your red-headed friend?"

Roxane looked over to Vardan, who was inspecting each of the bodies in the pile with Isra to confirm their deaths. "That's Vardi. Uh, Vardan. He's Isra's partner. How'd you guess he was a friend of mine?"

Eira grinned. "Anyone who's met you and not run in the opposite direction is probably a friend of yours, considering what you bring to the table."

"Well, we've never met and you're not running. Does that make us friends?"

"I'm only sticking around because it's more interesting than running back out into the forest. Also, it's not often in life you get to ride an Ursa and damned if I'm passing up an opportunity like this."

Roxane smirked and rubbed the Ursa's neck. "And what makes you think I'll let you ride it?"

Eira nodded at Isra and Vardan. "I doubt you've had them walking while you rode around on the Ursa. Seeing as there's only three of you, that means one of you doesn't have a partner. Therefore, I must be one of your partners under Ozpin's rules from when we started. Considering that those two are interacting with each other more than they are with you, I assume you're the odd one out. By that reasoning, I'm your partner and like hell am I walking to the temple when I could travel in style."

Roxane smirked at the reasoning Eira used to justify riding the Ursa. "Well, you're not wrong. Vardi and Isra are partners, so I'm the one that doesn't have one. Thing is, I've got Isra and Vardi guarding the sides of the Ursa, so where do you fit?"

"I'll watch the rear. Didn't think it'd need a lot of working out. Four sides, four people."

"Guess not. Mount up, then. We're temple-bound shortly." Roxane gestured to the Ursa's back as she turned to look at the boys managing the pile of Beowolves. "Hey, you two! Unless you want to walk to the temple, you'd better get on now!"

* * *

The Ursa loped into the clearing that held the temple, two of its four passengers engrossed in discussion.

"So, you think it's the Ursa that's keeping Grimm away from us, Eira?"

"It's better than your theory, Vardan. 'Everyone else is more terrified'?" Eira snorted. "Come on. We're all lucky to have gotten the second call. I doubt that people would have been terrified."

Vardan shook his head. "Feeling lucky and feeling terrified rank on different scales, Ei."

"Says the guy who's friends with the Grimm-rider. You've probably forgotten what terror feels like."

Roxane fired a shot into the air, silencing the two. "You want to talk about terror and fear, Eira, save it for when we're not in Grimm territory. Unless you wanted to walk, that is."

Eira shifted from one side to the other, Roxane's reaction to her comment unsettling her. "Yep. I'll shut up. Anything else you wanted to say, or…"

"Just that we're as close as I can get this Ursa to the temple. It's got a lot more fight in it than I gave it credit for." She nodded at the stand of trees directly in front of them. "The temple should be right on the other side of those trees. Or, you know, the clearing with the temple in it."

Isra slid off the Ursa, Vardan in tow as he walked towards the trees. "Hey, Roxane, you want us to pick up a relic for you guys?"

Roxane glanced down at her Ursa, then at the temple. "No, me and Eira'll come with. Just give me a second." She turned around and motioned for her partner to disembark. "It's going to get a little rough up here soon. You might want to get off now."

Eira raised an eyebrow only for Roxane to remove the magazine from her SMG in response, revealing a blade running the length of the barrel. She glanced down at where Roxane sat on the Ursa – its natural red coloration beginning to return – and realised what was to come, sliding off the beast's back as Roxane plunged her blade into its head. Eira watched as the Ursa shuddered, the combined effects of Roxane's control leaving its mind and her blade entering it proving too much for it to bear and bringing it to the ground.

"Looks more than 'a little rough' to me."

Roxane smiled, wiping the blade on her coat before sliding the magazine back over it. "Yeah, that's what Vardi said the first time he saw me pull that stunt. It was a Beowolf, not an Ursa though. Apparently, the minute or so where it's still figuring out exactly what happened is also the ideal time to damage the brain – or whatever passes for its brain – because it's so confused. One of my teachers at Signal taught me that."

"What, the, 'kill it while it's stunned', or the science behind it?"

Roxane shrugged as she walked over to Isra and Vardan. "Bit of both. I'd already figured out the first because, well, you see where I sit on the thing. The second was a lot more of their work. Even then, it still seems a little off. I've never seen a Grimm get cut apart, so I have no idea if they know what they're talking about."

Eira followed her partner into the temple holding the relics. "Not one to take them at their word?"

"Well, I could, but where's the fun in that? The real fun is in seeing them defend it. Most annoying word a teacher can hear: 'why'." Roxane let a small laugh escape as memories washed over her. "You ever driven a teacher crazy with that?"

Eira looked warily at Roxane. "No. Should I have?"

"You _clearly_ haven't lived. Put it on your graduation bucket list for Beacon. 'Say 'why' until you're told to shut up and accept it'."

Vardan glanced over at the two as Roxane spoke. "I'd say 'don't do that', Eira. Rox can do things like that and get away with it because her family is stupidly rich. I think, by the time Rox graduated Signal, her family had 'donated' something like over a million lien to… well, Rox can tell you why."

Eira chuckled, unzipping her vest to reveal a logo on the shirt beneath it. "I take it you don't recognise the surname, then. Eira Sable, daughter of Colward Sable, the current CEO of Sable Security Group. I think I can get away with 'rich people rules'. And," she looked at Roxane, aghast, "Over a million? What the _hell_ were you doing at Signal that your family needed that much to keep you enrolled?"

"It's a long list."

"How long?"

Vardan grinned and pulled out his scroll. "Several pages. I took a photo of it once, when they left her record out. Top one - 'violation of workshop safety, endangering a student'."

"They couldn't prove that."

"Nope." Vardan took a few steps back from her. "Not without help."

Roxane looked at the gap between them, then at Vardan. "You… really? You _told_ them?!"

"What was I going to do? There wasn't anyone else in our classes that could have done what you did. It was 'lie and slow their investigation for a couple of days, then get in trouble' or 'be sort of honest, point them your way and not get in trouble'. I'm not going to get myself in trouble for you, not when the Mallor name can buy you clear of anything."

"You son of a-" Roxane ran at Vardan, who sprinted off into the surrounding treeline.

Isra and Eira, who'd both stopped in their actions to observe the unfolding argument, soon took to providing their own commentary. "We certainly picked interesting partners, didn't we Eira?"

"You could say that. Think she'll kill him?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Eira shrugged, zipping up her vest. "You've been around them longer than I have. You should know them better."

"I really doubt I know them well enough to make that call."

"I'll take that as a 'no'. You think we should get to picking relics while they… do whatever they're going to do?"

"Sure, unless you think they're going to loop back around. Wish I'd brought popcorn."

Eira snorted, glancing around at the pedestals ringing the interior. "Ozpin said what we did would affect our grading. What do you think the grading's like for these?"

"No idea. What do you think it is?"

"It's probably some test of character. You know, picking a random object is suddenly going to give Ozpin and whoever else does grading a half-decent idea of what we're actually like. So, I guess it comes down to what relic you like better. Personally, I'm a fan of the lantern." Eira nodded to a rusted lantern, empty but for flakes of rust filling the bottom.

"Any reason why?"

"Well, what's a lantern going to say about somebody? That they're protective, possibly a little cloistering, but that they still advocate hope. Of course, that last bit might be moot, considering that there's no candle in it. What about you?"

Isra looked at the arrayed relics, his eyes settling on the candle nearby. "Candle takes my fancy."

"A fitting counterpart to the lantern. Supports the pursuit of knowledge, power through the flame, but untampered and prone to self-destruction if left unchecked."

Isra cast a sideways glance at Eira. "Are you going to do that for every relic?" Eira shrugged, her expression suggesting 'why not?'

"Alright, the coin."

"Favours wealth, fortune – literal and otherwise. Has a tendency towards duality, one aspect markedly different from the other."

"The watch?"

Eira raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to have me give my opinion on each of these relics, or are you going to pick one?"

Isra chuckled. "I've already picked mine. I just wanted to hear what you had to say, apparent philosopher that you are."

"Fine. The watch – symbol, literally, of time. Metaphorically, of fate and awareness thereof. Displays a predilection towards humanity – humans being the only animal to monitor time with machines – and also technology. Shows that you are aware that time is expiring, both in your own life and in the fight against the Grimm."

Eira sighed faintly, pausing a moment before continuing. "Indicates that you know that your time, like all others, will come, but you are willing to spend that time in the most productive manner." Eira looked out at the forest, still echoing with the noise of Roxane's chase. When she spoke, Isra noted a newfound weariness enter her speech.

"Are you finished? Or is there one more relic you would like to hear my opinion on?"

Isra cast a curious eye over his unofficial partner, trying to identify what the problem was. "…No. I'm good. Let's get what we've picked."

Eira smiled, the weariness alleviated some by Isra's statement. "Good. Lantern and Candle, right?"

"Right."

* * *

Back on the cliff, Professor Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch were watching the camera feeds from the temple with interest. The four students who were accepted into the second wave with 'special dispensation' had, inexplicably, managed to partner themselves together.

"Ozpin. I want you to tell me, right now, that you didn't plan this. You didn't plan for these four to partner up, and you don't have plans to put them in the same team."

Ozpin sipped from his mug and shrugged his shoulders. "All I gave was a push. I can't guarantee they'll be placed in the same team, nor that they would have partnered up the way they have. If I could have chosen their partnerships, I won't deny that it would have matched how they naturally fell together."

Glynda scowled at him. Once again, the forces of nature were conspiring to do his will. It couldn't be the other way around, she knew him too well for that. He always seemed to be the one in control, which was why events like this were… rare. The Council didn't quite know what they'd gotten themselves in for, making demands of Beacon like they had.

"So they will be teamed with your blessing?"

"I wouldn't put it so romantically, but yes. If they all make it back with the appropriate relics, I will ensure they are teamed together. If nothing else, the Mallor girl and her friend, Mister Marist, have a chemistry that will suit them well on the field. To place them in separate teams would be a criminal waste of potential, albeit one that, given Miss Mallor's predilections at Signal, would likely be quickly rectified."

"You can't seriously be suggesting…"

"That she'd arrange for an accident to befall the other half of her team to ensure that her and Mister Marist would be placed on the same team? We've both seen her disciplinary record. They couldn't get anything to stick, but there's only so much coincidence can explain."

"Ozpin, if you _genuinely_ think she's capable of that, then she deserves to be in a psychiatric institute, not Beacon."

"That might be true, Glynda, but I think that, given what we've seen of late, we could use a little instability."

"No war was won by sinking to the enemy's level, Ozpin."

"It's not a war, Glynda. It's a game. A chess match, if you will. You can't sink to your opponent's level if you begin the same."

Glynda shook her head and cycled the feed away from the temple. "You're wrong, Ozpin. We aren't terrorists. We don't have to justify what we do."

"Neither do they."

"The White Fang _do_. They-"

"Are an organisation dedicated to ending discrimination against Faunus, whatever the cost. They started out as a Faunus advocacy group, trying to get them accepted within the confines of the law. That failed. Now, they just want people to treat them with respect. What easier way is there to be respected than through fear?"

"By doing what's right."

"What's right when all you've been is wronged?" Ozpin pulled out his own scroll and returned his attention to the temple.

* * *

**A/N: **And I'm back, with this chapter as an apology for my absence.

Thanks to Challos for editing.


	8. Chapter 7: The Return

Isra and Eira walked over to their chosen relics and collected them before walking back to the body of the Ursa, looking around the clearing for their respective partners.

"You wouldn't think they could get lost in a clearing with just the one building in it."

Isra chuckled, placing the candle in a pouch. "I don't think that ruin counts as a building. Half a building, maybe. And I've seen people get lost in less."

"Long grass?"

Isra smiled. "Nope."

"Semblance?"

"You're talking about how they went missing, not what they got lost in, right?"

"Sort of. It'd be funny if someone got lost in their semblance."

Isra shook his head as his smile vanished. "Funny for you."

Eira looked at Isra, who seemed oddly pensive given his previous cheery attitude. "Something I said?"

"Long story." _Too long for my liking. Never should have picked up- Don't. Don't think about it, Isra._

_Clear head? Clear head. On you go._

Isra spun slowly, taking in the part of the clearing they could see. "Do you think we should go look for them, or wait for them to turn up?"

"If you want to go track them down, go ahead. I'll stay here in case they turn back up. Let me get your SID first." Her hand vanished inside one of the magazine pouches on her vest. "You've got a scroll, right?"

Isra's hand dipped into the pouch he kept his scroll in. "Yeah, just a tick. Not too familiar with the whole 'contact' thing, though. Novice question, but where do I find the SID?"

Eira plucked Isra's scroll from his hand, navigating the menus with practiced ease until she found what she was looking for. "What's with the language on this thing? Valish too good for you or something?"

Isra looked over Eira's shoulder at the display. _Scroll kod identyfikacji_ _– Scroll identification code. She knows what she's looking for, at any rate._ "Yeah, uh… I got it through a friend."

"A friend, huh? Smuggler, more like."

Isra raised an eyebrow as he took his scroll back. "How do you know?"

"I recognise the language, even if I don't speak it. It's a sister language to Atlesian. Doesn't have a huge speaker-base outside of Atlas' criminal underworld. Probably related to a purge about four hundred years back that killed most of the people who spoke it."

"Linguist, heiress, Huntress. Talk about multi-talented."

Eira tapped the code into her scroll and sighed. "Not there yet, Izzie. I'm not an heiress – the Schnees are the only ones who call their kids that – I'm not a Huntress, and I'm pretty sure my hobby for languages doesn't count as me being a linguist."

"You can't take a compliment?"

She put her scroll away and turned to face Isra. "I can, but you've known me for maybe an hour max. Tell me I'm pretty, tell me I'm witty; hell, act like you're scared of my dad, but don't try and say I'm multi-talented until you've actually _seen_ me demonstrate it."

Isra raised his hands defensively. "Right. Pardon me for trying to build a rapport."

"Oh no, you've done that. You'd already be on your ass and watching mine walk away if I didn't think you were worth my time."

"And what _have_ I done to earn your time, then? Always looking to improve my people game."

Eira chuckled and drew her carbine. "Don't _ever_ call it your 'people game' again. By Dust, if there was anything you could've said to kill whatever respect I had for you, that'd be it."

"I'll keep that in mind. You still haven't answered my question though."

"You still haven't found our partners, either."

"If I track them down, will you answer my question?"

Eira grinned and hooked the lantern to her vest. "If you track them down, you will have answered that question yourself."

Isra smiled and drew his own weapon. "Two can play at the 'cryptic phrases' game. I've had years of practice too. The one who persists longest is not always the victor."

"Get our partners, and we'll see who can 'persist longest'."

Isra checked his rifle's load, swapping out the ice canister for one filled with fire Dust, and walked off, chuckling as his mind filled with the koans he'd been told over the years.

* * *

Magnus read through the list of Beacon prospects that crossed his desk that morning.

"You'll have to point it out to me, Vic. All I'm seeing here are names."

Victoria sighed and tapped on the screen. Immediately, one name on the list was highlighted in yellow. "Right there, sir."

"Vic…" Magnus looked at the consul disappointedly.

Victoria sighed as she recalled the princep's orders. "Magnus, sorry."

"That's better. Now, what's so special about this name?"

"I ran through the entire database of Cerulans and cross-referenced it against the Beacon student list, as you ordered. That name was the only hit. 'Isra Feher'."

"Feher. His parents are both members?"

"Yes sir. Well, _were_ members. They were excommunicated twenty years back for 'dissent'. Of course, that's a light offense, so any children are still eligible for service in the Order." Victoria paused, contemplating the combination. "Sir, if I may ask, what kind of dissent warrants excommunication? I could understand a punishment like ostracism - where we simply don't associate with the guilty - but excommunication seems to be taking it a bit further. Why cut off anyone else who speaks with them?"

"Because, Consul, sometimes dissent is a small step away from heresy. The Fehers had taken that step and more. I was merciful."

* * *

**TWENTY YEARS AGO**

"Agent Coriol, you _seriously_ expect the Executors to believe that your attempt was thwarted by the efforts of _one_ man? Not only that, but your response was to excommunicate that man as soon as you had the means to?"

Magnus looked at the shrouded figures surrounding him – the Executors of the Blackguard, the chief authority on any Blackguard operations. "Executor Thanis, please, don't try to pass judgement until you've been in my position. I had just taken the title of Princep of the Vale Chapter of the Cerulan Order and this man – Michaeus Feher – was trying to deny my claim. More importantly, his father had spent nearly his entire life preaching that we should integrate with the traitors. Not merely reconcile, but _integrate_. He would have us sign away an entire chapter of the Cerulans simply because maintaining our integrity was too much of a hamper."

Another one of the shrouded figures spoke up, his tone just as condescending as his peer's. "Agent Coriol, this council is no place to grandstand. We have no care for your opinions on the Hunter-Cerulan Schism, so please refrain from calling them 'traitors'. While your accession to the office of Princep is certainly an impressive feat, doubly so given you've only had a presence in that chapter for ten years, you are now faced with a choice: You can continue your misguided crusade against the Hunters, or you can resign your post for further assignment with the Blackguards. Bear in mind that, should you choose the former option, the Blackguard will disavow you and, should you draw the ire of another individual who can contact us, you will be hunted down and killed."

Magnus grinned at the challenge. "You haven't had anyone like me grace these halls in two hundred years. That threat is as empty as your robes."

"Do not tempt us, Agent Coriol; our wrath is without measure. You will leave this compound, never to return. You will not contact us for assistance. You and your chapter will not be aided by any Blackguard until we gathered Executors decide to reverse our judgement."

Magnus' expression changed to one of pure fury at this denial. "You DARE to banish your BEST AGENT?! NO-ONE in this ENTIRE COMPOUND could do what I've done! NO-ONE could join the Valish Cerulans incognito, like I did, and rise through the ranks to become PRINCEP in TEN YEARS! I SHOW YOU how VALUABLE I am, and you THROW ME AWAY?! All because I wish to show those TRAITORS the PAIN and SUFFERING we endured at Penumber?!"

"Agent Coriol, if you are quite finished…"

Magnus exhaled, his fury giving way to serenity. "No. If I'm no longer a part of this band of _heretics_, I will not be addressed by the name you gave me. I am Princep Magnus Varanich, and I will see you all burn." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the chamber, shrugging off the arms of the guards escorting him.

* * *

"Princep Magnus?"

Magnus blinked himself back to reality. "Yes, Consul?"

"You seemed to be… elsewhere, for a moment. What do you want me to do about Feher?"

Magnus looked down at the scroll in his hands and the name. _Isra… it's not Michaeus, but he has his surname. A son, perhaps? If that's the case… Perhaps I might finally find my retribution._ He tapped a number into the scroll. "I'm sending you a number. I want you to call it and tell whoever answers 'the crows circle overhead; their prey lies below comprehension'. If they don't respond with 'their prey is not beyond comprehension, but beyond perception; comprehension is but an obstacle', come get me."

"And if they do?"

"You will talk with someone calling themselves an Executor. They will ask who gave you the passphrase. Tell them Agent Tyran gave it to you. They'll ask how he died; tell them he died in a collapse, leaving no body to be recovered. They'll send a team out to confirm the kill, and that's where Feher comes into the equation. Tell them we have a heretic who seeks allegiance with the traitors; they're honour-bound to follow up and, if necessary, dispose of the target for heresy. We will make it necessary. Am I clear, Consul?"

Victoria watched as the number flashed up on her scroll's display. "Perfectly, Princep. Call the number, use challenge phrase 'the crows circle overhead; their prey lies below comprehension' and expect response 'their prey is not beyond comprehension, but beyond perception; comprehension is but an obstacle'. If I don't get that response, I bring you into the call; otherwise I tell the Executor the code was given to me by Agent Tyran, who died in a collapse. Tell the Executor also that we have a heretic who wants to join the Hunters. Was that everything?"

Magnus smiled at Victoria's memory. He hadn't had the opportunity to work with people like her before; people who had near-perfect memories, so to have one as his assistant was quite the experience. "Yes, Consul; that was everything. Ut temporum fugit, sic faciunt populo; I'd get to work if I was you."

Victoria blanched; she'd never heard Magnus use Old Cerulan as casually as he did. "I'm sorry, what?"

"'Ut Temporum Fugit, Sic Faciunt Populo' – 'As time flies, so do people'. I thought you were familiar with the Old Tongue."

"I… I am, Princep, I just wasn't expecting _you_ to use it. I've worked as Consul for three years, and I've never heard it from anyone other than a Luminary."

"Yes; a shame, isn't it, that language falls by the wayside so easily?" Magnus sighed and looked wistfully at the globe on his desk. "Go make the call. I'll be around."

Victoria nodded as she left his office. She was well-versed in Magnus's mercuriality, so his sudden shift from rage to nostalgia was nothing new to her, but she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that his speaking Old Cerulan gave her. As for the task he'd given her… well, that just exacerbated her nervousness. The Executors were near-mythic figures to her and the rest of the Order; looming shadows waiting for the slightest straying from the path, punishing any who did severely. And he felt it necessary to invoke their wrath on a seventeen year-old boy?

She sighed and cleared her mind. She swore an oath when she became Consul; an oath that bound her to the will of the Princep, no matter how unusual his wishes. If his wish was to bring the Executors against a seventeen-year-old, she was to obey.

* * *

Isra walked around the temple's clearing, surveying the area for any sign of his partner. _Wow, he was gone all of ten minutes and he's gotten beyond the clearing. Speedy._ He paused and pulled out his scroll. _As I recall, these things have a GPS; the maps and whatever use it. Could I…_ He navigated to the scroll's settings and began his search. _If I was a tech guy, albeit one that spoke Język Karne, what would I call it?_

His hunt was cut short as a red-headed figure leaped out of a tree and on top of him.

"Whoa, Isra? Dammit, sorry man." Isra shook himself back to reality to see Vardan standing over him, hand out to help him up.

"Sorry? You _fell_ on me. Widow's word, that _hurts._"

"You've never had someone fall on you before? Of course it hurts."

Isra took Vardan's hand and climbed to his feet. "Not that. I've had plenty of falls, some of them where I landed on people, some of them the other way around. But at least I had some warning for those; time enough to bring up my Aura so it wasn't a surprise eighty to a hundred kilos of person on top of me."

Vardan carefully looked around and shrugged. "Yeah, well, Rox might've heard me if I said anything. If it comes to saving your back or not getting my ass beat to hell, I choose me. No disrespect or anything."

_Moral compass like Basil's. Him first, everyone else second. Well, at least I'm familiar with it._ "None taken. Speaking of Rox, where'd you last see her? Eira's getting a little worried."

Vardan laughed quietly, not louder than his normal speech. "Eira? Worried? She's a _Sable_. Sables don't worry about _people_; they worry about _pay_. They're like the Schnees of private security. If, you know, the Schnees were local to Atlas only and were less well-known."

"I think your metaphor got away from you there. You still haven't answered my question, though."

Vardan looked around, as though merely speaking her name would summon her to them. "Where's Rox? No idea. Last I saw, she was about five feet behind me as I jumped into a bush."

Isra stepped back from Vardan. "Five feet isn't far enough to lose someone. If she was five feet behind you when you jumped into a bush, she followed you into that bush and further."

"Guess I'm just screwed then. Want to count her in?"

Isra raised an eyebrow.

"You know. 'Three, two, one', that sort of-"

Isra jumped backwards as Roxane dropped out of the same tree Vardan had, right on top of him.

"Gotcha. Remember what we said when we got out of Signal, Vardi?"

Vardan tried to shove Roxane off him, to no avail. "Oh, great. Isra, keep this moment in mind; Roxane'll say something similar when she's going to beat you up."

"When? Don't you mean 'if'?"

Roxane glanced back from her position straddling Vardan. "No, he means 'when'. I'll probably wind up finding some way to get to know you better."

"Strange way to say 'beat you'."

Roxane nodded and turned her attention back to Vardan. "Yeah, I guess; but I think the best way to get to know someone," she smiled down at Vardan, "is to find out how much punishment they can take. On that note, you're about to get to know Vardi pretty well."

Vardan reflexively raised his arms and snatched Roxane's, pinning them over his head. "Or not. Remember how you couldn't beat me unless you had the advantage?"

Roxane's arms tensed, then slackened. "Dammit; I should've laid into you right off. Fine, you win."

"Get off me first. I'm not an idiot, Rox."

Roxane pouted, putting her best puppy-dog eyes into action.

"Not going to work on me. Off."

Roxane's pout turned into a frown, sticking her tongue out as she climbed off him. "You're no fun."

"I like not getting beat by a girl two-thirds my size. It's embarrassing." Vardan climbed to his feet before he let go of Roxane's arms, one of his hands immediately moving to her shoulder and holding her still. "Promise that you won't try anything?"

"When we get a quiet moment, all bets are off."

"I'll take that. Just as long as we're settled here." Vardan released his grip on Roxane's shoulder. "Isra, are we relic'd?"

"Relic'd?"

"Yeah. You _did_ grab a relic, right? You didn't just go hunting for me the moment I ran off?"

Isra nodded in understanding, pulling the candle out from its pouch. "Yeah, I grabbed one. Eira's got one for you as well, Rox. We can meet back up with her and make our way to the cliffs. Sound good for everyone?"

Vardan and Roxane both nodded in unison.

"Well, let's make some tracks."

* * *

Isra looked back down the cliff as he crested the top, watching Vardan, Eira and Roxane finish their ascent. When they had joined him at the top, he turned to face the two figures waiting for them, scant feet away.

"Professor Ozpin, sir, Isra Feher and Vardan Marist reporting with relic in hand." Isra produced the candle he'd taken from the temple and offered it to the professor.

Ozpin smiled, waving Isra's hand away. "Keep the candle. Well done on finishing Initiation, Isra. You may return to Beacon; you'll be summoned to the auditorium when the time is right."

"Thank you, sir."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow when Isra refused to move, but understood when he saw Isra and Eira's partners walk off to one side. _Already forming an attachment to his partner, or simply too nervous to travel back alone? Formation will answer that question soon enough._ He nodded past Isra to Eira. "Miss Sable? I take it you have a relic as well?"

Eira cocked her head at the mention of her name, only for her hand to reactively reach for the lantern when she saw who addressed her. "Oh, right, yes. Eira Sable and Roxane Mallor, one relic in tow." She raised the lantern on one finger, offering it to the professor with a smile.

"Keep it. Well done on completing initiation. You may return to Beacon; I'll summon you to the auditorium for the next step shortly."

"Thank you, Professor. This isn't going to be a wasted opportunity."

Ozpin smiled at the girl's eagerness as the lantern's handle slid back into her hand. "I'm sure it won't, Eira."

The four gathered themselves and walked back down the path towards Beacon.

"Ozpin, you don't normally remember every student's name. Why do they warrant an exception?"

Ozpin watched them stride along the path and sipped from his mug. "Isra is here because I owe his father a favour. I don't owe many people favours, Glynda, so it's a noteworthy event worth remembering. Eira is a Sable; here on recommendation from an old friend. I don't typically place much weight in recommendations, but the records that he attached suggests that – had Eira applied – she could have easily made it in with the original classes. Mister Marist and Miss Mallor are far more… mundane, worth remembering through association. Make no mistake, I don't value any of them any more or less than I do the other students; these four are simply here on my generosity alone and it would be impolite to not even learn their names."

Glynda cycled through the camera feeds on her scroll, settling on one of the other pairs. "Generosity can be as much a curse as it is a blessing. You told me that once."

Ozpin turned and gazed out over the forest, listening to the far-off sounds of Grimm and gunfire. "When I was younger and more cynical. I've seen enough to prove me wrong since then."

* * *

**A/N: **Hello reader! Apologies on the lack of updates the past while, but I've been busy with my other project, R.W.B.Y.: This Dying World. That being said, I'm going to keep this updated on a reasonably regular basis.

As for this chapter proper, I didn't want to spend much more time messing around with the Initiation sequence, so I figured I may as well bring it to a close now. Next chapter we can actually get onto meeting students and what have you.

See you when the next chapter comes!


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